


Convergence

by GloriaByrd



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 20,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaByrd/pseuds/GloriaByrd
Summary: What if nearly every origin survived? Cadash & Adaar fight alongside Inquisitor Lavellan and her twin brother, Renan. The Hero of Ferelden & Hawke join the Inquisition & take the fight to Adamant fortress. Not everyone will make it out alive.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Female Adaar/Sera (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fenris/Female Hawke/Varric Tethras, Male Cadash/Cassandra Pentaghast, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Morrigan & Male Tabris (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Female Surana
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Wrote almost this entire story (but who knows how long it'll end up being) in one Saturday fueled by coffee from home and Starbucks, the comfort of wearing pajamas all day, neglecting all PSAT practice and homework in favor of embracing my obsessive (and kind of scary) love of Dragon Age, and the exhilaration of stabbing my writer's block repeatedly in the bits. So enjoy this caffeine-crazed hope-it-will-be a masterpiece with my first-ever "real" cuss words in something I've published (Yeah, I know. It's taken awhile. My innocence has at last evaporated in the wake of 2020. I'M FREEEEE! Okay. I'll stop there. Sorry) :D
> 
> This story takes place in a lore-unfriendly world state in which the Origins Tabris, Cousland, and Surana (city elf, human noble, elven mage) survived, but only Cousland became a Grey Warden. However, the other two eventually met up with Arya Cousland, helping her stop the Blight. Sage Surana died in the attack against the archdemon, while Arya Cousland struck the final blow.
> 
> Aviendha Hawke is the one and only Hawke in this fic!
> 
> Sulahn Lavellan is the Inquisitor and has the Anchor, but she also has a twin brother, Renan. Kadram Cadash and Vry Adaar have also joined the Inquisition as agents.
> 
> If that all sounds confusing, don't worry. It'll (hopefully) make sense :)
> 
> Just about everything else is lore-friendly. Enjoy!

_Some heroes get happy endings._

_Most don't._

_Covered in my own blood, I see now that I wasn't meant for any soft epilogue. No._

_All I can say is, I'm sorry._

_Sorry, Thedas. I failed you._

_Sorry, Inquisition. I failed you._

_Sorry, Sera. I––I––_

_A few weeks ago_

"You would think," Cullen thrust a hand toward Inquisitor Sulahn Lavellan and her agents laughing at some joke Queen Arya Cousland had told, "that with so many heroes, we would have some semblance of seriousness."

"Ooh!" Hawke poked at Cullen's arm. "Alliteration!"

Cullen let his face fall into his palm. "Andraste's––"

"Now, Cullen. I heard that." Hawke shook an admonishing finger at him. "You really shouldn't use such language around the children. She patted Josephine's head with a motherly smile, blew a kiss in Cullen's direction, and sauntered toward the group to join them in another peal of laughter.

He found Leliana grinning at him. "Would you stop that?" He crossed his arms and turned his head in an effort to hide the blush rising to his cheeks.

Leliana counted off on her fingers. "The Warden, the Champion, and the Inquisitor. You sure do get around. I'm surprised you haven't ended up with any yet." She shrugged. "Maybe next time."

Josephine giggled behind her hand.

Cullen whirled to her. _"You too?"_

She only gave him a shrug, her attention now locked on Arya Cousland, as she recounted the story of how Sage Surana tried to offer her company to Cullen before he panicked and ran away with his face as red as a tomato. Currently, Cullen's face matched that description quite well.

However, silence soon fell as the heroes recalled Sage's sacrifice in the battle against the archdemon, as well as the grief that came after that faraway battle, mingled sourly with the celebration of the defeat of the darkspawn horde. Though Sage wasn't a Grey Warden, she had fought in the battle as bravely as if she were, pledging to remain by her leader's side until the end.

"Where is Zevran, do you think?" Arya asked softly.

Cullen watched as Leliana's face crinkled in sorrow and thought. Cullen had never met Zevran, but he had known Sage for quite a long time. And he had mourned for a long time after.

"Are we just going to stand here, or are we going to get this Fade shit over with?" And there was Kadram Cadash, the man that tried Cullen's patience more and more with each word that came out of his mouth. With scars lining every available inch of his stern, bearded face, he looked exactly like the thug leader he had been trained to be.

Clearing her throat, Vry Adaar slid off the war table and onto her feet, towering over those gathered around her. "Kadram's right. We've been sitting around for long enough now." Swiping a hand through her short, poofy, and hot pink curls, she glanced at the door.

Cullen found his lips curling in a soft smile, and Leliana and Josephine joined him. Today was Sera's birthday. Vry couldn't wait to finish with the war table business.

Cullen marched forward, hand on the pommel of his sword, waiting for Inquisitor Sulahn Lavellan to make her choices at the war table. Biting her lower lip, she wavered over several different markers before settling on that of a fortress. Adamant.

"Inquisitor," Cullen began, stepping forward, "are you sure you're ready? We have yet to replenish the forces we lost at . . . those we lost at Haven."

She turned eyes of green fire to him, melancholy tinging the edges. "We don't have a choice. Wardens are being controlled, killed, imprisoned in their own minds." Sulahn met her twin brother's eyes, and Renan Lavellan nodded. "We won against everything else. We've faced impossible odds. Why not this?"

 _Why not this?_ Those were the words that begat disaster.

"We'll attack Adamant as soon as possible," Sulahn affirmed. "We'll bring everyone if we must. But I'm not going to let those Wardens die." This time, she looked to the Queen of Ferelden who allowed a small smile to come to her face, deepening the lines the years had driven into her face.

"Very well then." Cullen stood straighter, palm finding the pommel of his sword as naturally as breathing. "We'll do as the Inquisitor commands. Be ready, everyone. This will not be easy. May the Maker watch over us all."


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Dorian teased, "did you have fun? Were any of the kids mean to you?"

"Ha, ha." Renan Lavellan crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't fight the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Thank you. Thank you." Dorian mocked a bow. "I perform every Tuesday in the tavern. Tips are appreciated."

"Ooh, a performance!" Inquisitor Sulahn Lavellan jogged back down the hallway, the sun shining through the collapsed section of wall, setting her blonde hair alight like white fire. "I have a few silvers in here if you'll tell a good joke."

Though her face was hidden behind her waterfall of hair as she searched her coin purse, Renan recognized his sister's playful tone. Even so, she offered Dorian a handful of silver coins.

"And what is this?" Solas inquired from out of the blue, his long, delicate fingers settling on Sulahn's shoulders and immediately beginning to massage.

"Oh my gods," she murmured, contentment overcoming her so swiftly that Renan half expected her to start purring. "Keep doing that."

Dorian's eyes shifted from her proffered hand of coins to Solas standing tall behind her. The elf's gray eyes narrowed in preparation for the kiss he was about to deliver to her neck.

"Okay!" Dorian seized Renan's hand and pulled him after himself. "At least _we_ honor privacy!" Renan chuckled, squeezing Dorian's hand as they began to run down the hallway and up to their quarters.


	3. Chapter 3

Aviendha Hawke did not move when the door to her room creaked open, but she did look up when Varric's voice greeted her.

"Sittin' here in the dark all by yourself?"

"No, Varric. I'm meditating."

He paused.

She laughed and patted an empty space on the bed beside her. "I'm kidding, obviously. You know, I'm disappointed in you. I thought you were better at detecting my sarcasm than that."

The single candle in the room illuminated his shrug. The bed creaked as he sat down, his back to her. Her own back rested on the headboard, the wood freezing cold from the mountain air. Not that she cared.

"Playing with Fenris's token, are you?"

She didn't glance up from the coin she twirled in her fingers. Fenris had given it to her before she left Kirkwall. He said it was the first bit of money he'd ever owned. He'd never parted with it. Until now.

"I miss him."

After knowing him for so long, Hawke sensed Varric's nod. "He misses you too."

The still quiet between exchanged words did not bother them. As best friends, sometimes the silence said more.

"I heard he's in Tevinter," she added.

"Mm-hmm."

"Killing mages."

She heard Varric inhale sharply. "Yes," he added slowly, cautiously after a moment.

And then the rage overcame her. The words bubbled out like an overheated and overfilled cauldron of soup. "I thought I taught him he didn't have to fear mages. I thought he learned something after everything that happened in Kirkwall. I get why he had to leave. I mean, Skyhold isn't the place for him. It's too small, with too many people. Too much magic shit. I just . . . _Argh!_ I want to throw something at his big stupid face and then kiss him and then kill him and then marry him––"

Varric was quiet for a moment. "You're worried about him. You aren't there to protect him, to guide him. But you also don't want him here. You know this is more dangerous."

She did not respond.

"Hawke . . ."

She felt tears on her lashes.

"Don't do this again."

"Do what?" she asked, voice nearly breaking. Nearly.

Varric's voice broke first. "Sacrifice yourself." Her eyes widened at the quivering of his back, outlined by the dying candle's flame at her bedside. "First it happened with the Arishok. Andraste's ass, there was so much blood. So much of your blood. I thought––"

He shook his head. "Then it was Orsino and Meredith. You barely came out of that. And then you thought about going to the Conclave, and you would have died there. And Seeker and Nightingale wanted you to be Inquisitor. I thanked Andraste they couldn't find you, but after Haven . . . Shit, Hawke, I had to tell them."

Hawke's eyes widened. He never called her Hawke. He always called her Chuckles.

"And now you're here, and the Inquisitor wants you on a mission with a impossible odds, and I just have this horrible feeling––"

Hawke lunged across the bed, enveloping Varric in a hug that slammed the breath out of both of them. For a time, they both cried, tears soaking through each other's shirts.

"Everything'll be fine," she whispered into his hair. _Or so help me, Maker_.


	4. Chapter 4

"Shiny?"

"Yes, Sera?" Vry asked, a slight smile overcoming her.

"Can we make cookies?"

Vry found herself booming with laughter. "Yes, Sera. We can make cookies. But no raisins this time."

Sera shrugged and settled against Vry's chest. "Okay."

They relished the warmth of one another and the setting of the sun outside.

"No wonder you're hungry," Vry commented. "We missed dinner."

"Oh yeah?" A knowing smirk crossed Sera's face. "I had plenty to eat."

Vry gasped and playfully shoved Sera. " _Really?_ You had to go there?"

" _What?_ "

Vry rolled her eyes and leaned her head back on the pillows, scrubbing a hand through her cloud of pink curls. Sera's hand soon joined hers, playing with the poof of pink.

"It's so fluffy!" Sera giggled. "And bright!" She lowered her voice, imitating some man. "How do you hide from your enemies with all that color?"

Vry snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth. "Was that supposed to be Cullen?"

Sera snorted too, falling back on the bed and rolling around in laughter. "Yes," she mouthed, only able to nod in her spurt of humor.

Vry frowned, thoughts from the war table surfacing. In a few days, they would all leave for Adamant Fortress. Without the forces they needed, there was the possibility of this ending like Haven.

 _We have the Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall, and the Inquisitor on our side. We got this_. Even so, she couldn't convince herself out of the dread that seeped up.

"Shiny?" Sera had stopped laughing and had crawled up the bed toward Vry to peer at her. Vry felt a pang in her heart when she noticed the worry in Sera's eyes.

"It's nothing."

She cocked her head, crossing her arms in suspicion.

"I was just thinking about Adamant," Vry admitted, averting her gaze from those pained eyes.

"Ew! Demons!" Sera shuddered, and Vry leaned forward, gathering Sera in her arms and pulling her to her own chest.

"I'll protect you," Vry promised with a grin.

"Aw, don't get all squishy on me." Sera glanced down and gave a sly smile. " _Hmm_. _Squishy_."

And they had a moment's peace during the last birthday they would spend together.


	5. Chapter 5

Queen Arya Cousland sat at her desk, chewing on the end of a pen. A paper with only one tiny mark of ink lay in front of her.

"Dear Alistair," it was supposed to say, among other things, but she had already tossed out three papers after writing "Dear."

She groaned, letting her head fall to the desk. "OW! Shit." She rubbed at her forehead as it pulsed with growing pain.

"Where the hell is Aaron?" she muttered to herself. He was here at Skyhold, and so was Morrigan. Aaron Tabris was probably enjoying their reunion in a tower somewhere. Or maybe the eluvian room. The two of them seemed to like that kind of stuff.

Meanwhile, Arya was stuck as the Queen and a leader of the Grey Wardens while Ferelden struggled against Sulahn's _stupid_ decision to put Gaspard on the throne which was already ramping up to an invasion of her kingdom, and the Grey Wardens were falling apart and getting possessed and handing themselves over to Corypheus who was just like the Architect but considerably more of a dick, and Alistair wanted her to come home, and she wanted to go home, and she'd spent the last ten years cleaning up after everyone else, and the taint would kill both of them soon, and they still didn't have an heir, and she was so tired of everything and just wanted to retire, and the world was ending no matter how many times she'd almost died for it, and she could hear the Calling singing, singing, singing its sweet song and lulling her, pulling her, calling her to the end of this long, tiring story and finally telling her she could walk off the page, and everything would be fine, and she could rest. She could rest . . . _Sleep, Arya. You deserve rest. You deserve a happy ending_. _Sleep in the arms of the song. Rest, and let your worries melt away_.

Arya rose from her desk, sending her chair to the floor. Then, she picked up her sword, went to one of her bedposts, and started hacking. She did this all the time at her palace in Denerim. Surely the Inquisitor wouldn't mind. Arya definitely didn't. For good measure, she sent a primal scream out to echo through the Frostback Mountains and at last settled down at her desk.

Now she was ready to write.


	6. Chapter 6

" _Ar lath ma, vhenan_."

Morrigan's eyebrows rose, allowing the sunlight to bathe her golden eyes, setting them aflame. A raven cawed somewhere nearby in the garden, perhaps sensing a kinship to this woman who could become a raven herself.

"Where did you learn that?"

"Solas taught me," Aaron admitted, combing a hand through his short, dark hair. Morrigan's fierce gaze rested on one of his pointed ears. Though he was an elf, Morrigan knew more of Dalish culture than Aaron.

Morrigan scoffed, but Aaron detected a hint of uneasiness in her voice when she spoke. "That man . . . he reminds me of my mother. I cannot put a finger on it, but I just cannot bring myself to trust him."

"Jealous that someone knows as much elven lore as you?" he teased.

Morrigan did not like teasing. Aaron had forgotten that bit in their few years apart when she lived at the Orlesian court.

"Where is Kieran?" she asked suddenly, head snapping up like a frightened bird's.

"I left him with Krem. Don't worry."

"Krem? As in the Iron Bull's Chargers?"

"Just the Bull's Chargers, dear."

Morrigan seized his forearm like the worried mother he would have never thought she'd be. "In the tavern? What if they are teaching him those bawdy songs? Or showing him how to make bombs!"

"Kieran's fine." Aaron patted her arm, steering her to a stone bench. "I was younger than him when I was sent out to get food for dinner. And you know how the streets of the alienage are."

"Yes, but––" He noticed her biting her lip. He could guess what she was about to say. _Yes, but you're not his father. Yes, but you were a poor city elf. Yes, but Kieran has the soul of an Old God inside of him_.

Aaron looked away. Though Morrigan had learned much about society, her wild tongue sometimes got the best of her.

"I am sorry," she admitted, much to Aaron's surprise. Without looking at him, she set her hand on his, and he knew she was thinking about the ring resting on his fourth finger. Though they were not officially married, the ring provided more, such as the ability to sense one another.

"I am . . afraid," she continued hesitantly, eyes locked on something beyond the walls of Skyhold. "I have had dreams the past few nights, dreams of the Fade itself . . ." she turned her gaze to him, "and you in it."

He took her hand in his in return. "They're just dreams. The Fade likes to do that, I think."

"You are going to Adamant, but I cannot go with you. I have to stay with Kieran." She squeezed her eyes shut, the love for her son and the love for her partner clashing.

"Stay with Kieran," he commanded in a tone he had not used since adventuring. "Keep him safe. And Love," he added softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling, " _var lath vir suledin_."

Morrigan blinked in surprise.

"What, you think I only learned one line? I got a whole backpack full."

"A whole backpack full?" Morrigan rewarded his efforts by letting a rare surge of laughter come forth. "What an interesting turn of phrase, considering that you have a backpack fetish."

"I do not have a backpack fetish!"

"Then why did you buy _five_ of them? For _seven_ sovereigns apiece! For _backpacks!_ "

"I needed them to carry all our equipment!"

"What, our two hundred healing potions, ten sets of heavy armor, twenty pairs of boots scavenged from corpses, and those ridiculous cowls you made me wear?"

Aaron crossed his arms. "I was waiting to sell them to a merchant!"

"So you could be the richest man in Thedas? You were already richer than Alistair, and he was to become King. You should have seen yourself. You had five backpacks hanging from your shoulders while you were trying to swing your sword around. With the two dozen swords you had poking out of those packs, you could have rolled like a hedgehog through our enemies and vanquished all of them like that!" Morrigan snapped her fingers, but Aaron was already almost on the ground, laughing his ass off.

He sensed her grin. "I thought so." She crossed her legs, gloating. "That is what I'm here for."


	7. Chapter 7

Their time in Skyhold was the last respite before the plunge into the abyss.

The three heroes, their agents, the Inquisitor's companions, and the advisors all met in front of Skyhold's portcullis, permitting them one final view of the vibrant grass and autumn-streaked boughs. Only the Iron Bull was not present, as he was on a quest with the Chargers for the next month.

Arya shot Aaron a glare, but he did not see it as he gave Morrigan a final hug. Kieran stood with his arms flung around Aaron's leg, begging him not to leave again. The man knelt and then hugged Kieran. He wrapped his finger around Kieran's, pinkie-promising that he would come back with a baby griffin for the boy, or at the very least a souvenir.

Arya felt her anger melting. _You're just jealous_ , she told herself. _You're the only Warden here. Besides Blackwall_ , she added _. You're the reason we're going to Adamant now instead of waiting to gather more troops. You just wish Alistair were here with you_.

Still, it was difficult to look at Kieran, to look at the features that belonged to both Morrigan and Alistair, to look at Alistair's only son and know that she could never bear one because of the taint that was slowly killing her. The taint that would soon force the Queen of Ferelden to die in the darkness of the Deep Roads, the suffocating deep that would become her tomb. The taint that had ruined her life but saved the world.

She had lost another patch of hair today, and had carefully concealed it by changing her part. How was Alistair faring, a world away? Was he okay?

Would she ever see him again? The unexpected worry sent a shiver down her spine. _Get ahold of yourself. You killed the archdemon! You can go on a simple mission. We saved the world with two Wardens and a dog, for Andraste's sake!_

She looked to the Inquisitor who stood with Solas holding her in his arms, to Hawke who laughed with Varric, to Vry and Sera as they munched on cookies, to Dorian and Renan as they kissed each other before the journey, to Kadram reading beside Cassandra while they waited for everyone to be ready to leave.

Arya's hand fell with a crunch on the pocket that contained her letter to Alistair. She hadn't been able to gather the courage to ask Leliana to send it.

 _It'll be fine_ , she told herself, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't convince herself on the long march to Adamant.


	8. Chapter 8

The siege towers fell to greet the ancient walls. The battering ram struck the great gates of Adamant Fortress. Trebuchets hurled their fiery loads over the walls. Soldiers sounded their cries, and they rushed to their deaths.

The heroes, agents, and Inquisitor's companions were separated into groups: Group one included Arya, Dorian, Renan, and Kadram. Their goal was to rally as many Grey Wardens to the Inquisition as possible.

Aaron, Vivienne, Vry, and Sera made up group two, and their job was to disable the enemy's siege weapons. Group three was Sulahn, Solas, Cole, and Blackwall who were to go after the enemy commanders.

Lastly, group four, which was comprised of Hawke, Varric, Cassandra, and Cullen, would deal with any demons, abominations, red lyrium, or other unexpected magic crap that decided to pop up.

Kadram and Cassandra shared a shy kiss before joining their separate groups, each giving the other a final look that said, "Stay alive, or I'll kill you."

Dorian's grip tightened on his staff. "What are we waiting around for? Let's stop these bastards before our soldiers are all killed!"

"We have to wait for our signal," Arya told him. "Our group is going to charge through a hole Kadram blasts in the wall." She turned to peer at him over her shoulder. "Didn't you pay attention in the war room before we left Skyhold?"

"My dear, when do I ever pay attention?"

Arya nodded. "Good point." The end of the conversation ushered the return of anxiously awaiting the signal which was to be an explosion in the eastern wall of Adamant Fortress.

How many Wardens were dying in there? Could she have done anything to stop this madness?

Whatever the case, Corypheus was going to die. Slowly.

Explosion. Marching.

Arya moved without thinking, running into the cloud of dust with her sword drawn and shield raised.

The instincts embedded within her since a decade ago resurfaced as easily as when she had fought for her life in Castle Cousland, her nephew and sister-in-law dead, the cook dead, the servants dead, her father dying, mother choosing death over her daughter, Duncan invoking the Rite of Conscription, blood, so much blood in her childhood home, the screams, the betrayal, the smoke stinging her eyes, seeing red, Howe would die, die at her own hands. At the end, it was only her faithful mabari, Barkspawn, at her side.

She had already stabbed and killed a man without knowing it. He lay at her feet, reaching for her legs with one hand. With the other, he held his guts in.

Arya moved on. She had seen it all before. There was no time to feel sorry, even for killing a fellow Warden. He was already too far gone, she told herself.

Dorian and Renan fought back-to-back, staves crackling with necromantic magic and ice. Kadram was far ahead of all of them; she could tell by the distant booms of his explosives.

Arya felled another three Wardens. A rage demon rose in front of them, its lava-like form gliding over the scorched stones. Air wavered around it, afflicted by the heat of its skin. Renan shot it with an ice spell, weakening it enough to allow Arya to bash her shield into it, shattering the demon and sending it back to the Fade.

 _That was too easy_ , Arya thought, working her jaw. She glanced around, but no more came.

Spotting a group of Wardens huddled uneasily by a wall, she ushered her companions after her, hoping to save at least a few lives today.


	9. Chapter 9

"I thought this was supposed to be difficult," Vivienne commented distastefully as a pride demon withered away into Fade ash. Usually, the beasts took more effort to bring them down, but the worries of everyone about Adamant were becoming laughable.

Aaron, thinking of Morrigan and Kieran, snapped out of his reverie. "For all you know, a dragon could be hiding around a corner. Don't let your guard down."

"Darling, I never let my guard down." Vivienne righted her hennin while she asked Vry, "Do you see any more siege weapons?"

Vry's eyes widened with the unexpected question. "Why are you asking me?"

Vivienne shrugged. "Because you're tall."

"I'm not _that_ tall!"

Vivienne's disapproving click of her tongue suggested she thought otherwise.

Sera slid up beside Vry. "I could always take her trousers. Or her funny hat. Or just stick an arrow up her arse." She snorted. "Not like she doesn't have one up there already."

"I heard that," Vivienne announced icily.

"Good," Sera spat.

Vry slid a hand down her face. "Whose idea was it to put Vivienne and you in the same group?"

"Ask Her Inquisitorialness. She's the one who put herself in with Solas." Sera mocked the two by smashing her hands together and making kissing noises.

Vry inspected the area. "I wonder why we got stuck with the siege engines. We're already done, I think. It looks like everyone else has everything under control."

"Hey!" Sera jumped up and down, balancing herself by setting her hands on Vry's shoulder. "How 'bout we go join their group?"

"Whose group?" Vry asked.

"Sulahn's. They're going after jerkface from the desert fort. They might need help bashing his face in properly." For emphasis, Sera slammed a fist into the palm of her other hand. Her expectant gaze, like a puppy's, softened Vry.

"Okay. Hey, guys! We're going to join the Inquisitor's group!"

Aaron followed after them without a word, Morrigan's worry over her dreams filling his thoughts.

 _"_ _I am . . afraid,"_ Morrigan's voice drifted back to him. _"I have had dreams the past few nights, dreams of the Fade itself . . . and you in it."_


	10. Chapter 10

"Bianca's still hungry," Varric commented, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder as the last demon dissolved with a blast of flames from Hawke's staff.

Cassandra eyed him. "You know, sometimes your obsession with that crossbow scares me, Varric."

Varric gasped. "Don't you dare say that in front of her! You just hurt her feelings!"

"I honestly can't tell if you're being serious or not."

"Shh, Bianca," Varric stroked the weapon on his back. "Just ignore the Seeker. She didn't mean it."

Cassandra and Hawke shared a glance of mingled humor and concern.

"Guess we should join the Inquisitor," Hawke offered, and they headed forward before Cassandra stopped her. Anxiety welled up in Hawke's chest at the interruption. _Have I done something wrong? More wrong than basically destroying Kirkwall and running away from templars and being an apostate?_

Cassandra waited until Varric was out of earshot before pulling a book out of a deep pocket. _The Tale of the Champion. Great. Not that book again. Thank you, Varric_.

"Can you sign this for me?" the Seeker whispered, casting furtive glances at Varric's back.

"Shouldn't Varric be the one to sign it? I mean, he's the one who wrote it."

"But you're . . . You're the . . ." Cassandra's cheeks flared red, and she shoved the book into Hawke's hands, crossing her arms after.

"Do you have something to write with?"

Cassandra fumbled around in her pocket before digging out a pen.

"You really came prepared," Hawke noted as she scribbled her name on the inside of the cover. This was a rare copy of the book, with it being leatherbound and containing what appeared to be every chapter in one volume. "Why didn't you just ask me at Skyhold? We _are_ in the middle of a battle."

"Well," Cassandra stumbled over her words, "I didn't want anyone to see. And nothing's happening right now."

Hawke handed the book back, and Cassandra stared at the signature as though it were Andraste herself.

"Where did Cullen go?"

"Huh? Oh." She slid the book into her pocket with reverence. "He went ahead to direct his soldiers. He said something was happening on top of the keep."

"Then why aren't we going?" Hawke broke into a run, annoyed after the delay for a book signing when men and women were dying out there.

"The battle isn't as bad as we thought it would be. They should be fine. We would just add to the confusion by standing up there, waiting for another enemy to materialize."

"Materialize? What are you––Oh. I guess I'm just used to fighting mages and templars, you know? They just kind of . . . stand there. Waving a pointy thing. Yeah." She noticed Cassandra wasn't listening anymore and had stopped at the end of a battlement. "What is it?" Hawke asked, tone falling into seriousness.

Hawke's eyes grew wide as disks. "Is that a _dragon?_ "

"Corypheus's dragon."

"Is it an archdemon? Is that _red lyrium?_ "

"We're not entirely sure."

The creature gave off a fierce roar that rumbled deep within Hawke's gut. _Wow_.

"Well, let's go!" Hawke took of running again, faster this time. "Andraste's ass, I love dragons!"

"I'm glad you do," Cassandra replied flatly.


	11. Chapter 11

Aaron's and Hawke's groups met the Inquisitor's first, arriving at a scene of chaos, of a dragon bearing down on them.

"Well, shit, Chuckles," Varric huffed as they ran away from the dragon. "You just had to get in on the action."

"I _do_ love dragons," Hawke replied with an adorable smile.

"What's going on?" Dorian asked, joining the group by seemingly appearing out of thin air.

Hawke screamed, "I thought mages couldn't do that!"

Rolling his eyes, Renan asked as they joined the race against the dragon, "Aren't you a mage?"

"Yes!" Hawke yelled, sounding just a teeny bit terrified.

"That's Corypheus's dragon," Sulahn announced.

"Yeah, we know," Hawke replied, the panic slowly leaving her voice. "Hey, Varric?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I can talk to Morrigan after all this? I heard she's a shapeshifter. Maybe she can teach me how to turn into a dragon!"

"She _is_ Flemeth's daughter," Arya informed them.

"Wait . . ." Hawke nearly halted, but Varric grabbed her by the fur collar of her armor and towed her after him. The dragon breathed its odd flames behind them, missing them by just enough distance for them to feel the flames.

"Flemeth is Morrigan's mother? Which means . . . Morrigan is the daughter of the Witch of the Wilds, and Flemeth helped you." She pointed at Arya. "Flemeth helped you, and she helped me. She turned into a dragon."

"I know," Arya panted. "Hold up. She helped you? But I killed her!"

"When?"

Arya shrugged and answered breathlessly, "I don't know. A couple months after Ostagar?"

"It took me a while to put that whatever-it-was on the mountaintop. It was definitely more than a couple months after Ostagar, since that was before Lothering, and by trip to Kirkwall . . . I'm sorry. Why are we talking about this while we're running from an evil dragon? I'm in shape, but not _that_ in shape."

"Weakling," Arya muttered under her breath with a smile.

Hawke squinted at her.

"Oh, look. A dead end." Vivienne stopped before the rest of them, settling into such regality that any who saw her would not believe they had run around the entire fortress. "And there's Warden Clarel."

"And Tevinter jerkface," Sera added quite eloquently.

Vivienne shot her a disgusted glare, and Vry frowned at the woman.

Arya rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "I swear, working with you all is like working with children."

Meanwhile, Hawke jumped up and down with her hand on Varric's back as she pointed out the strong tail and unique jawline of the dragon. She had been studying.

"Andraste preserve us," Arya mumbled.

Sulahn marched back to them. Apparently, she had begun her walk to the confrontation of Clarel and the Tevinter tool while everyone else stood and talked at the entry to the one-sided bridge.

"Hello?" Sulahn called over, tone signaling her annoyance at the lack of participation.

"Hello!" Cole greeted sweetly.

Sulahn spared him a motherly smile and then returned to business. "Why are you all so preoccupied? We're in the middle of a battle!"

"So everyone keeps saying," Hawke said, stroking her chin like a detective, "and yet we fail to take the situation seriously. I wonder why that is . . ."

Cole began to list what he thought of the situation, "Broken, bleeding, blighted hearts rending, righted, restless. Unsure, uninterested, unmotivated––"

"Alliteration!" Hawke shouted, puffing out her chest after yet another successful discovery of a literary device.

Cullen, who stood near Sulahn, asked, "What is your fascination with alliteration?"

"Because I'm going to be an editor! Of Varric's books!" Hawke flung an arm around the writer, and the two grinned at each other.

"Aww," Varric voiced.

Sulahn grabbed Solas's arm and towed him after her. "Come on. We're going to stop this guy and go home alone apparently."

Solas glanced back and forth between the Inquisitor and his companions, unsure of what was happening.

"Aw, damn it." Sulahn stared up at Clarel who was now in the dragon's mouth. "See, people? This is what banter gets you."

"But _they_ love banter!" Cole protested.

Hawke stared at him. "Who's _they_?"

A haunted look, more haunted than usual, came to his eyes. "Outside, peering in, strangers, you, but different. You don't want to know." And he left the unsettling response at that.

Clarel dropped from the dragon's mouth and landed on the stones with a sickening crunch. Somehow, she managed to crawl forward, striking the ground with a blast of lightning. That blast resounded through all the spectators and the stones below.

"Oh, shit," several companions muttered as the ground crumbled beneath them.

"Run." Sulahn urged them. " _Run!_ "

But there was no time. The stones gave way before they could move, and they began to fall.

Until Sulahn's hand crackled, and a Fade rift yawned beneath them.

"What the––"

The Fade swallowed them.


	12. Chapter 12

"–– _fuck?_ " Kadram finished weakly.

Arya glanced up at the man from her perch on the side of a gnarled pillar. Kadram stood upside down on a floating rock, a good twenty feet above her.

The Inquisitor's companions and other agents stood in varied positions on pillars, on floating rocks.

"Where are we?" Vry asked, worry tinging her tone.

"Shiny!" Sera exclaimed from the other side of the field of columns, her arms wrapped around her knees. The luminescent green sky made it appear that she was crying. Perhaps she was. "Are you okay?"

Vry nodded and finally called back, "Yeah."

"Amazing!" If Solas's eyes grew any wider, they might have consumed his entire face. "It appears we're in the Fade. Physically!"

"Really?" Sulahn asked, wonder overcoming her tone as well.

Several murmurs of "shit" rang through the columns.

"WHAT?" Sera shrieked, unslinging her bow and nocking an arrow. "Did you say _in_ the Fade? Like, if we die, we _really_ die? With demons? And––And _demons?_ "

"And spirits," Solas added cheerfully, apparently enjoying her dread of all things magical.

"Magic crap. Demon crap. Fade crap," Iron Bull muttered. "Why can't we just fight dragons to save the world?"

"Well," Arya said, lowering herself from her column, "the only way out is through. Let's go."

Hawke groaned, but she joined Arya in moving. "I _hate_ the Fade."

"Same, sister. Same."

After the Warden and Hawke landed on solid, horizontal ground, several splashes ensued behind them.

"Ugh." Vivienne. "These boots are ruined." Sera landed beside her, further spraying Vivienne's white armor with muddy water.

"Oops."

A stave crackled with a forming ice spell.

"Put your weapons down," Sulahn commanded as though ending a sibling squabble, "or I put you two in the front."

Sera grumbled and shuffled over to Vry. The qunari wrapped her arms around Sera as if to protect her from Vivienne, demons, and the Inquisitor's punishments.

"I don't like it here," Cole confessed as he half-heartedly splash through a few puddles in their slow trek across the green and black wasteland.

Blackwall squinted at him. "I thought you were a demon, or a spirit or something."

"Not a demon. And not . . . _quite_ a spirit. Anymore. It's . . . hard to explain."

"Hmm."

"Hey, Blackwall?" Arya called over her shoulder.

"Hm?"

"How long have you been a Warden?"

"Oh . . . long enough," he replied with an uneasy chuckle.

"Have you heard the Calling yet?"

"I can't say I have."

"Even from Corypheus?"

Blackwall hesitated. "Still no, ma'am."

"Hm." Alistair had mentioned Blackwall once, that he was a friend of Duncan's.

"Do you have any stories about Duncan?" she asked, maybe too abruptly. She added, "He was the one who recruited me into the Wardens, you see. He was killed at the Battle of Ostagar."

She realized that last admission no longer pained her. Was it time or endless destruction that desensitized her to Duncan's death, and that of so many others close to her?

"I––"

Before Blackwall could answer, Arya noticed a woman standing ahead on the path. A member of the Chantry, by her robes. The Divine.

Arya drew her sword and remained back with the rest of the group as Sulahn and Solas investigated what was surely a trick of the Fade.

The Inquisitor went through the motions. "Are you really the Divine?"

No straight answer.

"What are you?"

No straight answer.

"How do we get out?"

Somewhat of a straight answer.

 _Great_.

They fought their way through demons while the Inquisitor picked up weird glowing balls that talked, and then the Inquisitor collapsed in pain.

"I read the reports," Cullen murmured to no one in particular, "but does stuff like this really happen this often?"

"Yes," both Arya and Hawke replied, and they smiled at each other.

At last, the Inquisitor straightened, and they moved on to another section of the so-called memories, the group catching brief glimpses like an uncompleted puzzle.

Corypheus had killed the Divine, and the Inquisitor's acquiring of the Anchor was all just an accident, not holy at all.

Arya glanced at those around her, wondering why they were disheartened at the revelation. Didn't everyone know that already?

"So," Varric began as they walked away from the last set of memories, "editor, huh?"

Hawke nodded proudly. "Excited?"

"You know you don't need to understand what alliteration is to be an editor, right?"

"It adds to it, though, doesn't it?"

"I guess you're right."

They settled into silence again until a voice boomed above them, shattering the sky like thunder. Sera yelped and jumped at Vry like a monkey leaping to a tree.

"Hawke," the voice crackled and splintered like wood struck by lightning. Slowly. A demon luring them into its lair. "Where is your sister? Your brother? Your mother? Where are all the mages you 'saved'?" The templars? Kirkwall is burning. You can smell the corpses. And Fenris . . . he's in the mouth of the dragon now. He's going to be a slave again, and you can't save him this time. What will he do when he learns what you've been doing to yourself? He'll leave you when he learns you're exactly what he's killing. He'll kill you next, rip your heart out, and grin."

"SHUT. UP!" Tears wavered in Hawke's eyes, and she shot a blast of some sort of magic into the air. Red. Blood.

_Blood magic?_

The group stared at Hawke, but there was no time for words. The demon started again.

"Sulahn, do you know what your wolf is planning?"

Solas stopped walking.

"One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, and the sky will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see." Arya could sense the demon's grin.

"Holy shit," Hawke murmured. "Sandal said that!"

The demon went on, "Your heart will betray you, Inquisitor. Your rise will be the world's downfall."

"Your words mean nothing, demon," Sulahn spat, and she took Solas's hand subconsciously. Solas stared at her, terror in his eyes, but she did not look at him.

"Morrigan will leave you again, Aaron," the demon went on. "One day, you will not return to her, and she will never know. She will hate you forever. Kieran will hate you when he learns you are not his father."

"I pity you," Aaron said. "You know nothing of love."

The demon scoffed.

"Do we have to listen to this?" Renan asked. "Can't we just magically plug our ears or something?"

"Now there is a spell for that," Dorian pointed out, "in Tevinter. But I don't know it. I naturally excel in ignoring people."

"Renan," the demon hissed, "what will Dorian do when you die? What will happen if . . . if . . . That's what you're scared of?" The demon went on as though unsure. "If you have to wear wet socks while traipsing about the Fallow Mire?"

"Ew!" Renan shivered. "That hit the spot!"

Dorian beamed at him. "So brave," he mocked, clapping his hands slowly.

Grumbling, the demon moved on. "Vry. You can't protect Sera. You can't even protect yourself." Vry's face paled by several shades. "When the qunari invade, they'll chain up your mother. And you. They'll kill Sera and make you watch."

Blood draining from her face, Vry sank to the ground, huddled in on herself, pressed her hands tight against her ears.

The demon finished, "And then they'll sew your mouth shut, cut off your horns, your hair––"

Sera knelt beside Vry and threw her arms around her. "Stop it! _Stop it, you friggin demon!_ "

"Sera, Sera, Sera," the demon went on. "If you shoot an arrow at me, I'll know where you are."

"Good!" Sera shouted back. "Then I'll know where _you_ are!" She paused in thought, realizing it didn't necessarily work that way. "I'll still shoot it up your arse!" she managed to get out, and then she returned to comforting Vry.

"Arya," the voice seethed, "no matter how much you sacrifice, the world crumbles more. What will Thedas do when you die soon? Will you go to the Deep Roads with Alistair, leaving Ferelden without its monarchs, an heir? What will your precious mabari do, when his owners leave and never come back? Oh, wait. He's still waiting for you, never knowing, always sitting by the front door. How many more people will you lead to their deaths while you remain unscathed? When you die, you'll come here, and you'll face everyone and everything that's ever died because of you. Your mother. Your father. Your brother. Sage. Loghain. Mhairi. Connor. Isolde. Ser Cauthrien. Duncan. King Cailan. The darkspawn are waiting here. The demons you've sent back. The cult at Haven. The werewolves. The broodmothers. Dragons. The archdemon." He chuckled. "My what a list of fears. You'll die in the dark, and you'll stay there. Forever. And Alistair will be there too. You'll watch him rot, be torn apart by the darkspawn, gnawed on––"

"That's enough," Arya said quietly, but the demon did not protest. "I know you fear me more than I fear you. I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to survive long enough to say goodbye to Alistair." She ushered everyone onward. "Let's go." From there on out, they walked in silence.


	13. Chapter 13

And then it was time to face the Nightmare, the Great Fear Demon.

It was quite unimpressive, as far as bosses go. Though it was tall, creepy, and powerful, it went down with its only minions being tiny spiders.

Hawke, at least, saw them as spiders, but there was something else there. Something deeper. A fear of losing herself to the blood magic she had resorted to within recent months. A fear of losing Fenris if he ever discovered that secret part of her. A fear of being exactly like the mages that had caused the mage-templar war and nearly destroyed Kirkwall.

Of course, Hawke would never tell anyone what she truly saw. For now, the only goal was to beat the fear demon.

The monster that had grown gluttonous on the nightmares of demons, darkspawn, and power-hungry men dissolved beneath Hawke's feet, going who-knows-where into some recess of the Fade.

And then the spider came.

A beast larger than a high dragon, it chittered with its wide mouth and rolled its too-many white eyes. Its pale, hairy legs brushed against the black towers with their ever-watching occupants. Whatever the spider was, it was big. Too big.

A Fade rift sparked to life beyond the creature, too late for those mortals of the Inquisition.

"You must go!" the spirit of the Divine commanded.

They waited for Sulahn's orders. Even with as many people as they had with them, facing the enormous spider would be a losing battle.

Judging by Sulahn's expression, she knew this. And she knew what had to be done. She began to step forward before Solas caught her arm. An expression of utter agony crossed his face, the realization that the Inquisitor meant to sacrifice herself dawning on him.

"No, _vhenan_ ," he whispered. "Thedas needs you. And the Mark."

"How could I let anyone else go?" she protested, ripping her arm from his grasp. "I'm the one who led us here."

"But you are the Inquisitor." The second sentence came out of him grudgingly, "And the Herald of Andraste. You are Thedas's only hope."

"But it wasn't Andraste, or the Maker. It was all coincidence, wrong place, wrong time."

"No," he said, taking her hands in his. "Anyone could have gotten the Mark. Anyone could have stood up to Corypheus. But it was you, _ma vhenan_ , who rallied the mages to your cause. It was you who inspired the people after the demise of Haven. It was you who earned the title of Inquisitor. The world still needs you. Do not be so swift to throw yourself to the wolves." He grimaced at the last words that came out of his mouth but squeezed Sulahn's hand reassuringly.

"I understand," she answered reluctantly. She turned her gaze to the others with her, asking without words who would complete the task that needed to be done.

Arya found herself stepping forward.

"Arya, no." Aaron pleaded, hurt crossing his face. "I'll do it," he told Sulahn.

Meanwhile, the spider came slowly closer, poised by the Fade rift as if waiting for them to make a move toward it.

Hawke set a hand on Varric's shoulder. "Tell Fenris I love him." And then she took a step forward.

"What?" Varric froze. "Hawke, what are you doing?"

Hawke flinched at his use of her name and turned toward him with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry I won't get to edit your books, Varric." She gave him a crooked smile. "You'll always be my favorite dwarf."

"No. No, you're not staying here. I won't let you." Varric reached for Bianca, but Hawke soon enveloped him in a hug.

"I love you," she whispered tearfully, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hawke . . ." Varric's voice broke.

"Tell Fenris," she said when they parted.

Varric shook his head, swiping a sleeve against the tears running down his cheeks. Cassandra moved to his side, setting a hand on his shoulder.

"Hawke . . ." Varric repeated.

"We have to go," Cassandra said quietly, guiding him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Hawke moved toward the spider.

Aaron followed her.

Arya followed him.

Aaron stopped Arya. "Ferelden needs its heir, and the Wardens need a leader."

"And Morrigan and Kieran need you," Arya protested.

"I know." He closed his eyes for a moment as if in mourning and at last opened them. "But I should have died at the battle against the archdemon. If I had, Sage might still be . . ." He shook his head. "Morrigan and Kieran have done well enough without me. I'm not even Kieran's real father."

"Let's agree to disagree," Hawke said before smacking Aaron in the back of the head with the blunt end of her staff. Aaron collapsed, unconscious.

The group stood in silence for a moment.

"Go," Hawke commanded them, "before another idiot wants to join me."

"Come on," Sulahn told them with a nod at Hawke, silently thanking her for her decision. The Inquisitor's troupe followed the Inquisitor toward the Fade rift.

Varric struggled against Cassandra's grip.

"She's not staying behind! She's scared of spiders. Fenris is waiting for her. She has to . . . She has to edit my next book . . ." Varric broke down.

"I know." Cassandra's own voice sounded strained. "We'll find a way to get her back, but we have to leave now."

The Fade rift slid over Arya's skin like burning ice, and the Fade gave way to Thedas.


	14. Chapter 14

The return to Skyhold was a silent one, one full of mourning, regret, and guilt.

Aaron did not utter a word, and neither did Arya. Both felt the contrition of their choices pressing down upon their shoulders.

Arya pulled out her letter to Alistair. When would she use it? she wondered. She looked to Aaron riding with his back bent over his horse's neck, patting it, giving it silent encouragement.

Why Hawke? Why the Champion of Kirkwall? Why a woman fresh in love with a man needing her protection?

Why not a tired, dying woman already destined for a tomb in the dark?

Arya folded the crumpled letter yet again, stuffing it back in her pocket.

_Why couldn't I bring myself to stay?_

A long journey indeed.


	15. Chapter 15

Weeks of mourning went by before a stranger snuck into Skyhold's gates, broke into the Inquisitor's chambers, and threatened to rip her heart out if she didn't go into the Fade and pull Hawke out immediately.

Understandably, guards and the Inquisitor's companions rushed in as soon as they noticed the intrusion and traced it to the Inquisitor's room.

By that point, the white-haired elf and Inquisitor were both drunk. Sulahn stood on top of her desk with everything kicked to the ground while the intruder brooded on the floor, smiling slightly.

"Is . . . everything all right in here?" Solas asked, stepping forward through the throng of guards and companions standing on the stairs.

"Solas!" Sulahn leaped from the desk to the floor and crossed the distance in a wobbly run, falling into his arms. Grinning widely up at him, she slurred, "It's Fenris! Fenny!" She waved him over. "Tell him what Aveline said on her date!"

" 'It's a nice night for an evening,' " Fenris replied evenly, the alcohol barely affecting him.

"I . . . see. _Vhenan_ , I think you should go to bed––"

"I'm fine. See?" She tried to perform a pirouette as though that would convince him, but she nearly fell before Solas caught her for the second time. Leaning in his arms, she giggled madly.

"Fenris?" Cullen's head poked up from the crowd. "Is that really you?"

"Unfortunately," Fenris mumbled, and he raised a bottle of wine to his lips.

"Ooh. Where's Varric?" Sulahn asked. "Family reunion time!"

"Vhenan, I really think you should lie down. Now isn't the time for a 'family reunion.' "

"What," she responded, "because Hawke isn't here?"

That stopped all murmured conversations.

Fenris threw the bottle against the wall, spreading droplets and shattered glass across the stone floor with little skitters of green.

"Get Varric," Fenris commanded, the words wavering the slightest bit.

Several guards moved immediately to retrieve Varric from his room.

"So," Fenris began, the humor from moments before as distant as the last Blight, "did she offer to stay behind, or did you tell her to?" His gaze landed on Cullen, the one man in the room he knew.

Silence prevailed for a time.

"She offered," Kadram said, and all eyes swiveled to him. To hear him talk was a rare experience.

"Hm. Sounds like her." Fenris played with the red ribbon tied around his arm. "Is she dead?"

"We don't know." This time it was Cassandra who spoke. She had her arms crossed, a position as defensive as when she held her shield in battle.

"No body, no death." Fenris moved his arm as if to take a swig and frowned at his empty hand, his gaze resting on the wall with its darkened spot of wine. "We're going to save her."

"I'm coming."

This time, all heads swiveled to Varric who pushed his way through the crowd. With his hair unkempt, shirt wrinkled, and bags under his eyes, he looked just as bad as the day of the funeral.

"Varric."

"Elf."

Fenris's dark eyebrows rose, his only indication of humor at Varric's use of his nickname. "You came."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I was going to kill you."

Varric scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "Should I be worried or thankful?"

"The letter."

Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. "Worst of my writing, that. No one should read it, really. In fact, it should have never been written––"

"Varric."

Varric stopped.

"Do you have Bianca with you?"

"Of course."

"Then let's go."

"Now? We don't even know how––"

"We'll figure it out."

"If I may interrupt," Solas butted in, "the Inquisitor is in no condition to do whatever it is you're planning. Let us wait until morning, at the very least."

"At the very least," Fenris scoffed. "You mages are all the same."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Solas's ears twitched.

"Was I speaking to you?" Fenris growled. Solas only grimaced. "I thought not."

Stepping forward with hands outstretched, Cullen interjected, "You can leave in the morning. That settles it."

"Whatever the plan is," Solas muttered under his breath.

With that, everyone left the Inquisitor, who had stumbled to her bed moments ago, to her snoring sleep.

Fenris, however, moved to the balcony once everyone departed.

There he watched the hawks circle over the mountains, red ribbon in one hand, engagement ring in the other.


	16. Chapter 16

In the distance, a cloud of snow sprang high into the mountain air, followed by a boom. That was Kadram, venting his annoyance at how the planning session was going.

Meanwhile, the others screamed at one another in the war room, not a far cry from Kadram's exploits.

"We can't just 'open a portal to the Fade,' " Solas protested.

Renan threw his hands up. "And why not?"

"Because Sulahn can barely control the power of the Mark as it is!"

Sulahn pressed her fingers to her temples. "Would you all be quiet for a moment? I can talk for myself."

"Ah, yes." Fenris swept a hand out in front of him from where he leaned against a dark wall. "Enlighten us."

"I'm not sure what I did last time, or how I did it. Otherwise, we would have gone back in for Hawke as soon as we could––"

"You are like frightened sheep," Fenris scoffed. "As soon as you see a shadow, you run yourselves to death for fear of what is not even there."

"What if we go back to Adamant?" Blackwall suggested. "I'm sure some of the Wardens still need guidance, anyway, and we could make sure everything's going well back there. Maybe if the Inquisitor sees the place where she opened the rift in the first place––"

Solas shook his head. "It does not work that way."

"Falling, flying, feeling . . ." Cole's face lit up, and he leaped down from his perch atop the war table, speaking to the Inquisitor. "Dreams die and desecrate, but they can recreate, remake, revive. You can know."

"Know what?" Sulahn asked.

"How," he breathed. He spun, exhibiting the most energy any of those in the war room had ever seen out of him. "Revisit and remember. Relive, and return."

Solas rubbed his chin in thought. "I think what he is trying to say is that a mage could go into your mind, Sulahn, while you dream. Together, you can discover what it was that made you able to open a Fade rift so that you can repeat it."

"And we can go in and rescue Hawke!" Sulahn finished. Gathering Cole in an embrace, she said, "Thank you."

Fenris straightened and strode into the light. Hope glimmered in his large eyes, and his ears twitched with anticipation. "We can save her?" His voice wavered, as full of desperation as that of a dying man.

Sulahn smiled sadly. "Yes, Fenris. I believe we can."


	17. Chapter 17

"I will enter her dream," Solas informed the mages and select others gathered around Sulahn's bed. "We have the lyrium?"

Dorian gestured to a case of lyrium vials resting near his feet.

"Good. If anything appears wrong, anything at all, wait for five minutes before sending another mage in. We do not need any more losses."

"Agreed," Vivienne replied softly from her spot on the sofa.

"Now," Solas sighed, "I suppose it's time."

Sulahn lay sleeping on her bed already, snores rolling from her open mouth. Half an hour before, she had elected to drink a strong herbal tea to make her sleep more soundly, a prerequisite for another mage to enter her dreams.

Solas smiled at her and prayed this would go as planned.

Such things rarely do.


	18. Chapter 18

It did not.

When Solas finally woke up a good three hours later, he screamed, tears flowing freely down his face. " _Vhenan!_ " he cried, crawling on hands and knees to Sulahn beside him.

The others in the room, Dorian, Renan, Vivienne, Cassandra, Fenris, and Cullen, all leaped to their feet and rushed to the bedside.

"What's wrong?" asked several of them.

Solas did not answer. He cupped Sulahn's cheeks, gently shaking her. She no longer snored. It appeared she no longer breathed.

"Is she . . ." Dorian whispered.

Solas did not reply. "Wake up, _vhenan_. Please. I'm sorry. Please, _vhenan_!"

Sulahn's eyes fluttered open. That was her only movement. Until she uttered, "Solas?"

Solas only shook his head and buried it in the fabric of her sleeve.

Something was wrong. Wrong with her voice. Wrong with her.

"Why are you crying?" she asked.

"What happened?" Dorian demanded, pulling out his staff. The tip crackled with lightning, raising the hair of everyone in the room.

"Calm down," Renan said, but he too began to pull out his staff.

Sulahn's gaze shifted between each of them. "I have no recollection of what has recently happened. Could someone explain why you are all so distressed?"

Cullen stared at Sulahn. "I recognize this. She's been made tranquil."

"Tranquil?" Dorian asked. "But that would mean . . ." As his words trailed off, his eyes grew wider. "He killed her! The damn elf killed her!" A spear of lightning jabbed the ceiling, leaving a smoldering black mark.

"I'm sorry," was Solas's only reply, muffled by the layers of fabric.

"Can she still use the Mark?"

Heads turned to Vivienne with her delicate hands folded over her lap.

"What? It is an honest concern, the first we should be asking."

At this point, no one bothered to reprimand her for what she had been taught in Orlais.

"What happened?" Renan repeated Dorian's question calmly. "We need to know."

Taking control of his emotions, Solas sat up, wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve. Cullen, who had barely spoken a word this entire time, stepped back involuntarily. He had never seen Solas cry.

And as a former templar, he knew where this was going. _Maker preserve us,_ he thought.

"I expected her to dream of Adamant Fortress, Haven, maybe the future she saw in Redcliffe, but this was . . . different." Though Solas's voice was already strained, the last word came out as though he were being strangled.

"She attacked me," he went on, and he added hastily, "likely inspired by a trick of the Fade. I had to defend myself. The Mark, I suppose, was what made her stronger. She nearly won. She was going to kill me. I had to . . . I didn't mean to . . ."

"You killed her in the Fade," Dorian summarized flatly.

"Y-yes."

"Renan?"

"Yes, _vhenan_?"

"I'm going to kill him."

"Ah." Renan moved forward and set up a magical barrier around the bed as Dorian's face flared with anger.

"Is there a reason you are all upset?" Sulahn asked, sitting up. Her face was too . . . blank.

Cullen studied her with sympathy. He had seen so many mages turned tranquil. Never had he imagined the Inquisitor would number among them.

"There's nothing we can do right now," Cullen told the others. "We should leave them."

"Who?" Dorian threw his hands out toward Solas. "The tranquil Inquisitor and the man who turned her into a mindless puppet? Yes, why don't we just leave a murderer with his would-be victim? I'll tell the city guards back in Minrathous about this tactic. I'm sure they'll love it."

Renan cocked an eyebrow, the expression conveying more than any verbal conversation.

"Oh, fine." Dorian turned on his heel. "But I'm staying right outside the door." He stabbed a finger in Solas's direction. "And if I hear a single sound that I don't like, I'm barging in here."

"She'll be fine." Renan guided Dorian toward the staircase.

" _Really?_ I was under the impression she lost all connection to the Fade and her emotions. I guess that's just something that goes away after a couple hours."

"Dorian," Renan warned.

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Yes, _amatus_. I'll try to stop fretting over those two staying in the same room after what just happened."

Renan cleared his throat, communicating "enough with the sass."

Dorian settled into an uneasy step, thoughts of what truly went down in that dream plaguing him long after.


	19. Chapter 19

"Varric?"

"Hm?" Varric, half-asleep in his chair beside the fireplace, sat up abruptly and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

Quiet as ever, Fenris padded toward Varric on his soleless shoes, book in hand.

 _A book?_ Varric wondered.

Fenris rubbed the back of his neck. "I, um, had a question."

Varric lifted his eyebrows, urging him to go on.

"I was reading your book . . ." Fenris held it up, and the light of the fire behind Varric illuminated the cover in the dark of night. _The Tale of the Champion_. Varric's eyes softened.

"I had a question about it . . ."

"Go on," Varric choked out. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do with the anxiety creeping up. Hearing "I have a question about your book" almost never ended well.

"You said something." Fenris wavered as he opened up the bent, torn, and stained pages until he got to one that was dog-eared. " 'If all of history has led to our meeting, why must it end in tragedy?' What does that mean?"

Varric opened his mouth to say, "I don't know. Probably scribbled that line in the middle of the night" before a glance at Fenris's face stopped him. Desperation shone in the man's eyes. Unshed tears glimmered in the reflection of the flames.

Varric leaned back, tilting the chair precariously as he thought. _"What does the line mean?" Hell if I know._ But Fenris needed something to make sense. Heroes were there to save the world. Writers were there to piece it all together. And with two heroes down, Fenris needed all he could get.

"It means," Varric began slowly as he thought his answer through, "we aren't guaranteed anything. We live every day believing there's going to be a tomorrow, but sometimes there's not. I guess that means we just have to live like today's our last day. And," he added, "love like we'll never see that person again."

Fenris averted his gaze, flames flickering in his dark eyes. He pulled something out of his pocket, something round that shone gold in the light. "Thank you, Varric."

Varric's expression hardened, eyes also drifting to the ever-shifting flames. "I loved her too," he wanted to say with all his heart. He wanted his words to come out before he could process what he was saying. He wanted to say what had weighed on him ever since he met Hawke for the first time, and he realized he loved her.

But Fenris loved her. And she loved Fenris. Varric and Hawke had tried a relationship once. It didn't work. That was that. It was better to be friends.

Or so he told himself.

Instead, Varric asked as if in a daze, "That was Orsino who said that line, right?"

Fenris nodded.

Varric chuckled. "I thought it would spice up the story if Orsino and Meredith were forbidden lovers. Suppose I was right. A lot of people ask about that."

Fenris did not speak immediately, but when he did, the words came quickly, like a dam at last breaking to release the flood. "Hawke taught me to read. She wanted to read this book with me when we saw each other next, so we could make fun of all the tales you made up." Fenris smiled tearfully.

"Most of it was real," Varric whispered, torn between smirking and weeping.

Fenris stared at his wrists. "I wore chains for most of my life. Hawke was the one to unbind me, and in doing so, I was bound to her, this time of my own will." He dropped his hands, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. "And now she's gone, and for the first time, I am free." Fenris's voice broke. "What do I do now?"

"We can still save her. Sulahn's going to––"

"Sulahn's tranquil. We don't know if her . . . magic hand will even work anymore, and Hawke's been in the Fade for so long . . ." Fenris's fists clenched. Utter agony flicked across his face, rage, brokenness. His gauntleted hand clutched the Amell crest on his arm.

"Hawke beat the Arishok," Varric protested, trying to convince himself at the same time. "She saved Kirkwall."

Fenris scoffed.

"Okay, maybe she didn't _save_ it, but she tried. Hawke's alive."

They remained in silence for a moment, only the crackling of wood in the fireplace providing ambience in the enormous chamber.

"So," Fenris asked, his voice tinged with forced humor, "why Meredith and Orsino?"

"You didn't sense it?"

"They hated each other."

"Ah, but that's how you know."

Fenris did not reply. He bit his lip and slipped the gold ring into a pouch at his waist.

"Why do you write, Varric?" Fenris asked suddenly.

"Why do I write? Hm." He'd been asked the question plenty of times and usually gave an answer a bit far from the truth, for the truth lay too close to his heart, too close to selfishness, to his past, to what he needed. Of course, he couldn't tell his critics that. Could he tell Fenris?

Instead of answering, Varric yawned and rose from his chair, stepped to Fenris, and clapped him on the back. "Get some sleep. You'll see Hawke in that wedding dress soon enough, yeah?"

Varric grinned at Fenris as his eyes widened, but Varric simply shooed him away so they could both finally get some rest. And stop worrying what would happen if Hawke really was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

"Step one: open a Fade rift. Step two: walk inside. Step three: Rescue Hawke. Step four: Walk out. Is that correct?"

"Yes, _ma vhenan_ ," Solas replied, sorrow in his eyes. "It is." He turned to the others gathered around: the Inquisitor and her advisors, her companions, and agents. "I have scouted the Fade near where we left Hawke. I believe I have located her."

Vry cocked an eyebrow. "You _believe_?" Beside her, Sera shivered in spite of the warm sun on Skyhold's lawn.

"I'm quite sure," Solas added flatly.

Vry eyed him, but Cullen broke in before the two of them could continue. "Who all is going into the Fade?"

Solas counted off on his fingers. "Sulahn, myself, Arya, Renan, Vry, Varric, Fenris, and Cullen should suffice."

"Wait." Dorian stepped forward. "What about me?"

"We have plenty of mages, and we have no need for necromancy in the Fade. Also, bringing too many people through could strain Sulahn's abilities and force us to leave another person behind."

Dorian frowned, and Renan set a hand on his shoulder as he stepped forward. "I'll be fine."

"Oh, don't say that. When you say that something always goes wrong!"

Renan smiled. "Maybe I like trouble."

" _Amatus_ , you are trouble incarnate."

"Why thank you. I'm glad to see I live up to my reputation."

After sharing a farewell kiss, Renan moved toward the gathering circle of those prepared to go into the Fade, leaving Dorian with an expression of lingering concern.

"Me too!" Sera plucked an arrow from her quiver and twirled it between her fingers. "Why can't I go with Vry?"

Solas scrunched his face up, perplexity overcoming him. "I thought you hated the Fade."

Sera bit her lip. "I do, but I want to be with Shiny. She doesn't like the Fade either. Why does she have to go?"

"We need another warrior. Cullen, Cassandra, and Blackwall all have duties at Skyhold right now."

Sera scoffed. "Blackwall? _Pthphh_. He's carving a rocking dragon."

"Rocking griffin," Vry corrected.

"Boring. What about the witchy guy?"

Arya nodded toward Skyhold's garden. "Aaron? Spending time with Morrigan and Kieran."

"Well, I don't care about the Fade. I'll still come."

Solas shook his head. "We don't have room for more people––"

"I'm coming."

"But––"

Sera was already grinning at Vry and bouncing on her heels.

Vry only eyed Sera as though she had been replaced by Blackwall's rocking griffin. "I can't believe you're that excited to go into the Fade."

Giggling, Sera raised herself on tiptoes to whisper in Vry's ear, at which the qunari roared with laughter.

Solas rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on his staff. "Are we ready then?"

"Yes," Varric murmured, and Fenris beside him did the same.

With that, those accompanying Solas stepped closer while the others moved to the periphery of the courtyard. All soldiers and servants had been warned not to enter the courtyard that morning, and for good reason.

After a few moments, a Fade rift crackled to life over the grass. No demons popped out, thankfully, but Solas urged them to hurry. Varric nodded absently. He had worried Sulahn's tranquility meant that Solas's quest into her dream hadn't worked, but, obviously, it had.

The companions leaped through, felt the unnerving burning cold of the rift passing over their skin, and landed on dark, wet stone on the other side. Once everyone was through, the rift snapped shut behind them.

_Sulahn better be able to open that back up_ , came several companions' thoughts.

_And if she doesn't?_ a voice slithered into their minds.

_What the . . . ?_ Varric thought.

Sera and Vry stepped closer to each other and unsheathed their weapons. "What was that?" Sera shrieked.

_You'll be stuck here_ , another voice added.

_With us_ , sibilated a third.

"Oh, fuck!" Sera whimpered, drawing her bow and aiming at the green sky.

Vry eyed her. "You wanted to come."

"Love you too," Sera grumbled.

"Aww."

Solas, who was at this point very far ahead, called to them, "Ready yourselves!"

"For what?" Arya shouted back.

"Demons!"

"Oh, great."

And that was when a horde of tiny fear demons, seen as spiders by several in the crowd, descended upon the travelers.

"I hate demons," Vry muttered just before the voices pressed in, sending her into a deep slumber.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger warning for major character death and trauma, not explicit.

"What is . . . What . . ." Vry tried to say, but no words came. Her lips strained against something. She tried to lift a hand to her mouth. Chains rattled around her wrists. Her eyes widened, though her vision, hampered by some sort of mask, did not improve.

Vry strained against the heavy chains wrapped about her torso, connected to some sort of leather harness, complete with a leash held by a qunari beside her.

A cool breeze wafted through the dim chamber, but it did not stir Vry's hair as it should. However, it did slightly sting when it struck her horns. Or rather, the bandages wrapped around the stubs of her horns. Her head felt lighter than usual.

 _No_.

The realization struck her at that moment, but she did not dare acknowledge it, for if she did, that meant this was real, her ever-recurring nightmare was real, that the qunari had invaded, had figured out she was a mage even though she could barely cast a spell, that they had sewn her mouth shut, cut off her horns, cut off her hair, and that meant Sera was––

Vry lifted her gaze from the stone-tiled floor to the scene that had been enfolding in front of her.

A qunari sat on the Inquisitor's throne. Soldiers stood at either side, lining Skyhold's main hall. Beneath the banners bearing the symbol of Par Vollen, the remaining members of the Inquisition stood in a line as though waiting to be judged by the man sitting on the throne. The Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen.

Sera was at the front of the line.

_No!_

Iron Bull stood at the front as well. "What do you want me to do, Arishok?" Iron Bull asked the man on the throne.

"Stick your swords up your arses!" Sera declared with much more dignity than being dressed in rags, kneeling on the hard floor, and having her hands tied behind her back afforded.

The Arishok leaned back as if bored. "Execute her. Make an example."

"NO!" Vry tried to shout, and though the bindings around her mouth made it come out muffled, the sound shook the hall, bringing it to utter silence.

The Arishok only blinked tiredly. "Control your _Saarebas_ , _Arvaarad_."

The qunari holding Vry's chain said something in Qunlat that sounded like "I apologize."

The Arishok looked between Sera and Vry. "Do it here, _Hissrad_ ," he said slowly, steepling his fingers as if curious. "The Saarebas must be removed of her attachment."

Without a word, Iron Bull removed an ax from a strap on his back.

Sera straightened. "I love you, Shiny," she said to the air.

_Don't leave me. Sera, don't you dare––_

The ax head glistened in the light of the stained glass windows as it descended.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I'm dreaming. This is just a nightmare. This is a nightmare. It's not real. Wake up. Please, please, wake up. WAKE UP!_

The sound that followed could have been the shattering of her heart, of silence, of hope. It could have been anything. Why did it have to be . . .

An inhuman shriek escaped Vry's throat. The chain snapped taut as she fell to the floor in a heap, unconsciousness trying to take hold after what she had just witnessed.

Vry realized she was crying. She didn't feel like it. She felt empty. She felt like the ringing of a bell after it's been struck.

She felt––

"Vry." Someone touched her shoulder.

_Sulahn?_

"There is no need to mourn."

_No, it's not. It's not Sulahn because Sera is . . . Sera is . . ._

Vry let her head fall into Sulahn's shoulder, and she wept.

She had finally snapped. The Inquisitor _couldn't_ be here. The qunari had killed the Inquisitor, displaced each . . . each _part_ of her in every corner of southern Thedas. An example, they called it. They never gave her a proper burial.

Sulahn was dead. Solas was dead.

And Sera. Now Sera was . . .

"How are you here?" Vry tried to ask, but she could not get a word out.

"Vry. Vry, stop crying. This is a dream. You have to wake up. Your mind is in the Fade."

 _What? No, I'm . . . I'm in Skyhold. The qunari invaded. They killed you. I would have woken up already if this was a dream_.

Sulahn pried Vry off of her and stared at her with those tranquil eyes.

 _Is this really a dream?_ Hope bubbled up in her chest.

Vry's gaze fell to Sulahn's hand on her shoulder.

"The Mark," Vry tried to mouth, shock overcoming her. Sulahn's hand did not glow.

Sulahn's eyes fell to it too. "When the demons overcame us, something happened to the Mark." She shook her head. "We don't have time for that now. You have to wake up."

"How do I do that?" she tried to ask, growing frustrated with her inability to communicate her thoughts.

Thankfully, Sulahn understood what she meant. "Imagine yourself where we were. Remember what happened."

Vry closed her eyes, tried to remember. But what happened to Sera kept reappearing. Flashing. Striking. Falling. Like. A. Nightmare. Over. And Over. And Over.

Vry clutched her head. _Make it stop!_ Her hand brushed against one of her broken horns. More tears threatened their coming.

"It's just a dream," Sulahn reminded her. "Ignore what you have seen. That gives it power. You are the one who truly has power. Do not let these lesser demons trick you. Do not give them strength by giving into your fears."

_Okay. Okay. I can do this. This isn't real. I'm the one who had power. I'm the only thing that's real. This isn't my world. I'm back . . . in the Fade. Physically. With Sulahn. With Sera._

_With Sera_.

Skyhold disappeared.


	22. Chapter 22

Life was perfect.

Was.

Arya lay beside Alistair in Denerim, in a bed finer than two Grey Wardens could have ever hoped for.

Alistair's hand rested on her belly, round with the child waiting to greet the world.

Barkspawn snored contentedly at the foot of the bed with his mate and puppies close. The fire in the hearth warmed the feet––and paws––of the Fereldens content in their homeland without threats to draw their minds away.

"I was thinking Duncan," Alistair spoke softly, "if it's a boy."

Arya absently swirled a finger through Alistair's short, blond hair. "Eleanor, if it's a girl."

"Eleanor?" Alistair asked incredulously.

"For my mother."

"Oh." He pursed his lips in thought. "Ellie for short!"

Arya settled herself against the pillows, happy that he was happy.

Alistair leaned down and kissed her swollen belly. "I love you," he whispered to both of them.

Arya let her hand rest on his head, and they fell asleep to the crackling of the fire.


	23. Chapter 23

Life was perfect for the next year.

Ellie was born as healthy as the child of two Grey Wardens could be. She was small, pale, underweight. But she was alive. She cried when she was born. Her parents held her. She was loved.

And then the Calling came.

Alistair was the first to hear it. He denied it, but Arya could tell, especially when it began to sing in her own ears. She tried to ignore it. She tried to deafen the song with Ellie's giggles, the blur in her vision with Ellie's smile, the weakness in her step with sitting on the floor to watch Ellie try to roll over, the patches of bald on her own scalp with fanciful hairstyles.

It was worse for Arya than it was for Alistair. No one knew why. It simply was.

It didn't take long for the servants to gossip with visiting nobles, the nobles to share the news with one another, and then for all of Ferelden to know that the King and Queen spoke to things that were not there, that their health was rapidly declining, that they, as Grey Wardens, were dying.

It came to a head when Arya attacked a noble in the middle of a monthly meeting, thinking––Well, she didn't know what she was thinking, as she later tried to explain to Alistair.

The two of them sat on their bed, Alistair's hand on her back, her head in her hands.

"I heard it," she recounted, voice muffled by her hands. "That ringing when there's a darkspawn."

"I know," Alistair whispered. "I do too sometimes."

"He––he moved suddenly. I thought he was reaching for his sword." She shook her head. "The guards barely stopped me. I could have killed that man."

Alistair did not respond.

"What if it's time?" she croaked.

He looked up, eyes wide with fear, and she returned his gaze.

"What if I attack you next time? Or––or Ellie?"

He shook his head. Denial. "You wouldn't."

"But I'm not you. You weren't there for everything, Alistair. When I close my eyes, I just see blood. Darkspawn blood. Human blood. The archdemon's blood. All of it. And I'm tired." She rubbed her eyes. "So, so tired. Maybe it is time."

"And leave Ellie without her mother?"

Arya bit back her tears. "Maybe it's for the best."

"No." Alistair took her hands in his, eyes glistening. "You're the Hero of Ferelden. The Queen. _My_ Queen. You can't leave me." He brought her hands to his lips, not for a kiss but for comfort. His voice broke. "Not yet." He lifted his eyes, and his tone grew serious, angry, even. "We saved the world! We, two novice Wardens and a dog, saved the world! We've given enough. I've read enough books to know that this is the time for our happy ending."

Arya stared at her hands in his, both of them mottled by scars, callouses, and the taint. "Happy endings are the world's empty promises to people like us. There will be an end, my love. Just not one to look forward to."

Minutes that seemed like hours passed before either of them spoke. Alistair urged Arya to lean back with him on the bed, to relax after a day such as this one.

"I'm going to tell you a story," he began, gaze locked on the ceiling, a smile playing across his lips.

Arya turned her head to study him. "Really?"

"Don't interrupt. It's a good one. Anyway, it begins in Ostagar where a handsome young Warden––"

"Is that supposed to be you?"

"Shh! Okay, so this Warden was talking with an annoying mage––I just remembered! We're supposed to name our grumpy kid after him!" Giggling, he moved on. "So, this woman walked in, full armor, golden brown hair braided in the latest fashion, nose held in the air. She looked like a stuck-up noble, but Maker, was she gorgeous!"

Arya smirked, and the story went on. Through the Korcari Wilds, the Battle of Ostagar, Lothering, Denerim, the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Redcliffe, the Circle of Magi, Orzammar, the Brecilian Forest, the battle against the archdemon, the wedding. And after.

The handsome Warden and his Queen had two daughters and a son, all as adventurous, handsome, and adorably awkward as their father, as beautiful, strong, and indefatigable as their mother (who had to correct her husband regarding what "indefatigable" meant). The children grew, and the eldest daughter eventually became the Queen of Ferelden, allowing the Wardens to live out their days wherever they wanted to go. However, they always returned to Ferelden, and there they settled for their final days.

On the last day, the two walked hand-in-hand along the shores of Lake Calenhad, watching the sun set, reveling in the wrinkles they never thought they'd be able to have, and at last receiving their well-earned rest at the Maker's side.

At this point, Arya had fallen asleep.

Alistair settled close beside her, wishing that they could grow old together.


	24. Chapter 24

After a month had passed, Arya stood at the gates to the palace with a pack over her shoulder, a sword at her side, and a shield strapped to her arm. There wasn't much to pack for when the point was to not return.

Alistair held baby Ellie in one hand and wiped the tears from his eyes with the other.

A few soldiers had signed on to escort Arya to the Deep Roads where her story would end the same way it did for every Warden––killing darkspawn until they killed her.

Arya unslung the bag from her arm and searched through it to make sure she had enough food and water to get to Orzammar.

Squinting, she pulled something out and held it up. A tightness began in her chest, a different tightness than one from the taint. "What is this?" she croaked, holding up a princess doll, Ellie's favorite.

"Oh." Alistair stepped forward, taking the proffered toy. His gaze fell to Ellie in his arms. "Looks like she wanted to give you a gift." He tried to laugh, but he started to cry. Arya did the same.

Husband and wife fell into each other's arms, daughter between them. Ellie began wailing too.

Eventually, they parted, and Alistair bounced Ellie up and down. "Shh. You're okay." He didn't sound convinced.

Ellie reached out with her tiny arms, leaning toward her mother worn down by dark circles under her eyes, bald head, and pallid skin. "Mama!" she whined.

"Ellie," Alistair wept, "it's okay."

"My love." Arya laid a weathered hand against Alistair's cheek, and he closed his eyes, releasing a few tears in the process. "Don't leave Ellie to follow me."

He shook his head slowly.

"Promise me. Alistair, _promise_."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I promise."

She rubbed her thumb over the stubble on his cheek. "I'll love you to the end," she promised in turn, "and after." She rubbed at her running nose. "Andraste preserve me." _This is harder than I thought._

Arya leaned down to peer directly into her daughter's eyes.

 _Maker, they're the same as Alistair's_.

She smiled. She knew she had thought that before. She just forgot, as she did these days. How many times had she fallen in love with the same thing? How many people wished for the chance to do the same?

"Be strong, Ellie," she told her daughter, and though the babe surely could not understand the words, maybe she would remember, one day. "I'll will always love you. Don't be afraid to be yourself or to stand for what you believe in." Arya winked at Alistair. "And listen to your father." She leaned forward, pressing her lips to Ellie's forehead.

Finally, she straightened and saw Alistair beginning to cry again. Brushing a tear from his cheek, she told him, "Don't cry. Be proud." Wrapping her arms around her husband and her daughter, she said, "We made a world where children can sleep without nightmares. What more could we ask for?"

Alistair shook his head, trying to smile. "You're too optimistic for your own good."

"We don't have to be scared either. We're as immortal as anyone could be." With that, the family shared a final embrace before Arya turned away to begin her final quest.

"Arya."

The Queen blinked at the woman who had just appeared out of thin air in front of her. "Sulahn?"

The Inquisitor nodded.

"What are you doing here?"

"This is a dream," the Inquisitor said, her voice oddly flat. Unemotional. Tranquil.

"No, I . . . I have a daughter. A life here. You're lying."

"Remember where you were, Warden. What is your greatest fear?"

"Spiders?" Arya tried, but her mind began to work, to consider the fact that her greatest fear was what she had just lived through, that she had gained all that she ever wanted––only to lose it to the one thing she could not fight.

Having been trapped in a dream of the Fade before, she knew all too well that the Inquisitor could truly be trying to alert her to this old trick.

"If this is a dream, where am I?"

"The Fade, physically. You must remember."

Arya turned back to see Alistair watching her morosely as though she were still walking toward Orzammar.

"If I wake up, what will happen to Ellie?"

"She never existed. She is a trick, a mirage designed to entrap you in your own mind, giving the fear demons strength."

"Then . . . none of this has been real? Nothing since . . . since the Fade. Since Skyhold." The world began to disappear. "No! No. What if . . . what if I want to stay?"

"You have reached the end of your happiness here. The rest is only fear and pain."

"But what if I stay with them? What if I don't go to the Deep Roads?"

Sulahn shook her head. "The demons will alter it to make the inevitable come true. You cannot create a paradise within a dystopia."

Arya held her breath for a moment and exhaled softly, like a child releasing a prized butterfly so that it might live. "What if this is the happiest I ever am?"

"Then leave now, so that you might yet cherish the untainted memories."

Arya's gaze rested on her daughter who accepted Alistair's offering of her favorite doll only to throw it on the ground. Arya found herself laughing and crying at the same time.

"Your decision?"

"Give me a moment. Thedas owes me a happy ending, even if I'm the one who has to end the story."


	25. Chapter 25

Hawke woke to find someone sobbing over her. A nightmare of red––red lyrium, red magic, red blood, her blood––remained like a dark cloud behind her eyes, but it faded with the recognition of the man before her.

"Varric?"

Varric gave a quiet squeal of joy and threw his arms around Hawke.

"Varric," she uttered, "I can't breathe."

He did not pull away for some time, but when he did, Hawke took a deep breath before Fenris stepped into the spotlight.

They met each other's gaze for a moment, blue eyes staring into green, and then the emotions that had built up in both of them for a month––loss, love, hopelessness, regret, longing––exploded, and their lips met as surely as their hearts began to beat in sync once again, and all was right in the world for just a moment. All was right.

"I love you," Fenris whispered between breathless kisses.

"Same here," Hawke mouthed against his lips.

"Marry me."

She stopped for a moment. Only a moment. "Thought you'd never ask," she replied, grinning and kissing him again, hard enough to bruise. " _Yes_."

Meanwhile, the Inquisitor and her companions allowed Hawke and Fenris some momentary peace in the Fade, and Varric plodded back over to them.

"So," Renan began, "are we going to talk about WHAT THE _FUCK_ HAPPENED TO MY HAND?" He stabbed a finger at his left hand where the Mark that had once been the Inquisitor's now resided.

Solas glared at the Mark as though it were a confounding magical trick he couldn't decipher no matter how hard he studied it. "It appears that something of the Fade transferred the Mark to you."

"No shit." Renan itched at the glowing tear in his palm. "And your explanation for why that is?"

"Maybe it's because you're twins?" Cullen offered.

Solas swiveled a stare at Cullen that asked, "How stupid do they make templars these days?"

The former templar shrugged and glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just a thought."

Glancing at his surroundings––a green sky, black rock, and eerie towers of stone––Solas proposed, "This area of the Fade has seen much upheaval since we killed the Great Fear Demon. Lesser fear demons have flocked here by the hundreds, perhaps thousands. There is no knowing what other ancient powers have come to take what they believe is owed them." His eyes darkened. "Or what we have unleashed."

Vry, who up until this point had sat silently on the cold, wet ground, arms wrapped around her knees, finally spoke. "What if we're not saving the world?" She turned her large eyes from Sera, crouched beside her, to the others standing tall above her. "What if we just keep making it worse?"

Solas, surprisingly, softened. "There will always be evils. The best we can do is destroy what ills we can and live in such a way that we do not inspire more." He finally looked to Sulahn beside him who still stood with a far-off look in her eyes. As a tranquil, the fear demons' effects had only transported her to each of her companions' dreams where she was easily able to convince them to wake up.

However, even after Sulahn had pulled Hawke from the dream she had been trapped in for a month, Sulahn had not awakened, her mind apparently going from dreamer to dreamer somewhere in the Fade. Sulahn remained even more a prisoner in her own body than before, emotionless mind separated from her body.

Still, Solas's fingers edged their way toward hers, and he held her hand, making a silent promise to save her. Somehow.

At this point, the group turned their attention back to Hawke and Fenris who had progressed from reuniting kisses to dangerously intimate affection.

Solas cleared his throat. "I believe we can head back to Skyhold now." He turned a wary eye to Renan and prayed the boy would be able to open a rift.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Renan muttered, stepping away from the group and toward an empty space in which he could open a rift. "It's not like it took Solas going into Sulahn's mind and turning her tranquil to open a Fade rift or anything."

And yet, after just seconds, a rift thundered to life.

"Well, what do you know?" Renan set his hands on his hips. "I'm already an expert. Isn't that convenient?"

"Let's hope it goes to the right place," Solas mumbled, battling the bafflement that threatened to enter his voice. He was the first one through and was the most surprised to find Skyhold on the other side. Skyhold, but not the lawn.

Someone screamed.

When the group stepped out onto lavish carpets, they glanced to the person who had screamed.

Dorian. The man lay in his bed, green exfoliating paste spread over his face and cucumber slices fallen from his eyes to the sheets.

Renan shrugged. "In the stories, you always have to think about something close to the heart to travel there, so . . ."

Solas frowned and scratched at his ear. "Thank you," he said haltingly.

"And _out_." Renan waved his Fade-marked hand and began walking toward the bed.

Arya marched out without a word to anyone. Hawke and Fenris obeyed immediately, the two sprinting out with arms around each other, Hawke's mad giggles echoing down the corridor.

Varric shrugged and walked out, Vry and Sera close behind. Cullen, who had stood uncomfortably until this point, shuffled out and tripped twice on his own feet. That left only Solas and Sulahn, one of whom stood as still as a statue with eyes locked on a bare section of the wall of Dorian's room.

"Let's go, _vhenan_ ," Solas murmured to her, and he tugged her along after him, her feet moving haltingly and nearly bringing him to tears.


	26. Chapter 26

Solas had tried to lead Sulahn to her own room, but she simply stood completely still until he began to pull her toward the rotunda. There, he helped her to the sofa where she sat without fuss.

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, unable to let go.

" _Vhenan_ , I am so sorry. I swear I will find a way to help you." His eyes rested on her left hand, laying limply against the cushions at her side. The hand that should have had the Mark, and was somehow parted from it.

It now belonged to Renan, her twin, a man barely capable of focusing long enough to decide how much sugar to put in his morning tea. How, then, was he to seal rifts? Would he become the Inquisitor, with Sulahn incapacitated?

Solas groaned and scraped a hand down his face, realizing he would likely have to be the one to report what had just happened.

It could wait, at least for a little bit.

Solas tucked a stray strand of Sulahn's pale blonde hair behind her pointed ear. She did not seem to notice.

His stomach turned at her state, and he had to turn away. Covering his mouth with his hand, Solas moved to his desk and riffled through the papers, the dusty old tomes, anything. _Anything_.

_Nothing!_

Books and papers flew in the wake of a furious swipe of his hand.

Arlathan would have had a cure. A spirit would have a cure. Hell, Mythal would have a cure!

But here, nothing!

He pounded a fist on the desk and sank, slowly, to his knees, to the hard floor. And there he felt the horror of what had happened to his heart sink in. The horror of her unblinking gaze. The horror of her living death. The horror of her hand, her cold, near-lifeless hand in his.

And the horror that it was he who had caused it.

In her dream, in a time that felt so long ago, he had not been prepared for what her subconscious had already discovered about him. Or perhaps it had been the Mark and Sulahn's gift of the knowledge of a coming future, granted by the anomalies in Redcliffe. That was the most likely option, as it would have been the reason _she_ interfered, giving the power to another not so close to Solas.

In the dream, Solas had walked into a grove. Scarlet light, filtered by autumn leaves above, shone down upon the Wolf and his Halla. Bone-white staff in hand, Sulahn hiked laboriously up the mountainside to one of Fen'Harel's last refuges in Thedas.

So she knew, and by the weathering of her sharp features, several years had passed. She had pulled her pale hair into a bun, strands hanging in front of her weary eyes. Most notably, however, had been Sulahn's missing left hand.

Solas wore the garb of his Fen'Harel persona, and by the power coursing through his veins, he had done what he had wished he wouldn't have to. Take Mythal's power. Blue magic also swirled about him, and he heard a song hum beside his ears, pulling him to the earth's embrace. Lyrium, then, and a lot of it. Too much to get out of this alive.

 _Guess I'll die_ , Solas thought to himself, fixing a grim smile on his face for the meeting of his beloved adversary.

Solas met her eyes and stopped. Completely. Utterly. Helpless.

He felt himself falling in love all over again, and die for the thousandth time at the sight of her face, angry and heartbroken and lost as it was.

" _Vhenan_ ," he found his voice cracking, his arms stretching out as if to gather her in an embrace. But this was not the man this woman knew. This Sulahn had suffered through his betrayal for years. She had weathered a hurricane of tears and a desert of hopelessness. She knew what he had done and planned to do before this Solas, an imposter in this vision of the future, had ever stepped foot on this mountaintop.

A cold wind chilled his bare scalp, sending shivers down his spine. This dream was too real. Too prophetic. And yet, that was exactly what it was.

It was too late when he realized that she held her staff not as a walking stick to reach him on this mountain, but as a weapon. Too late when he realized that her face was wearied not by sorrow (though that was there in plenty) but by the tragedy that she must soon deal upon her heart. Too late when she fired a blast of ice at him, rooting him in place.

The Halla stepped lightly on the pink mountain flowers beneath her, crushing them as surely as Solas's heart. Her face, bare of Mythal's vallaslin, bore traces of tears she had surely shed on the way up the mountain.

Solas could not help trembling from the ice encasing his body, holding him prisoner to the woman before him.

"You know what I have to do." She swallowed, her only outward sign of fear.

Teeth chattering, he managed to say, "Whatever I did to you––"

"Whatever you did?" She stepped forward, fingers of her right hand grasping his chin. "You really don't know?" She stepped back, tears beginning to roll down her wind-reddened cheeks, hand moving to her belly.

Solas's heart dropped to his stomach. _A child?_ " _Vhenan_ , you have to understand. This is a dream. None of this is real. You need to––"

She waved a hand through the air. "You might have fooled me once with your lies. No more. I can walk the Fade as well as you now." Pain flickered across her face. "An ability I sacrificed _everything_ for."

He tried to shake his head, but he was still encased in ice. A strong spell, indeed. She had improved over the years. "We can prevent this future. This is just your mind postulating what could happen based on . . . on what you know." He wondered just how much she did know, back in the real world.

Sulahn scoffed. "Like we stopped the Veil from being torn at Redcliffe? We both know that ended with the same result, only it was you who tried to destroy the world."

 _Tried? That means . . . I did it, but failed?_ His mind whirled.

"There is no saving anything." She stepped forward. "There's only picking up the pieces." Again, agony flickered across her face. This time it lasted longer, and green flared to life from her shoulder. Her neck. The left side of her face. In spite of the Mark's absence, it was spreading. And it was killing her.

Recovering at last, she shrugged, unconcerned. "We're both dying. Might as well get this moving before we disintegrate." Sulahn studied the swirling grooves in her staff for a moment, as though regretting even coming here.

"Wait. Our child. What's its name?"

Sulahn's thumb traced a whorl in the ivory staff. "Sa'vunin."

Solas cocked his head. " _One more day?_ Hm. A . . . unique name." No doubt that it referred to the famous elven elegy, an ode to the end of the world provided by Solas.

Sulahn smiled absently. "I call her Savi. And . . . I call _him_ Suledin." To endure.

"Him?"

"Twins."

"Ah." Solas let that sink in. _I have a daughter. And a son. And I've never met either. I might never meet them_. "Twins run in the family, then?"

Never before had he seen such flames burst to life in her eyes. "Not anymore."

"What happened?"

Her eyes, orbs of fire, swiveled to him. "You killed him." And she left it at that.

Solas exhaled deeply. "It seems I have much to answer for."

When he looked into her eyes again, he saw it. Murder. She was going to kill him now, and she would have no regrets.

Unless . . .

Solas closed his eyes, knowing what he must do. Though this was a dream, and he could not truly die, she could make him tranquil, and the hope of the elves would be lost. As much as the Inquisition needed her as she was, he could not let her wake, knowing what she knew now.

This deep sleep induced by the special tea, as well as his presence here, would cement these events in her mind to be clearer than that of any other dream. The Mark helped to make her a Dreamer. Killing her here would make her tranquil.

And so Solas became what he had always feared in himself. His Pride embodied. A predator. The Wolf.

Tapping into the lyrium that was slowly killing him, Solas unleashed a blast of magical energy that did not give Sulahn time to blink.

It bathed the mountainside in white light. Bleached the trees. Bleached the mountain flowers. Bleached the sky.

Solas squeezed his eyes shut. His tears fell. He could move again.

In his blindness, he reached for Sulahn. He found her on the ground and gathered her limp form into his arms. He felt her breathe one last time, her breath warm against his skin. And in the dream, she died. The dream died. The world died.

Then, Solas had awoken to find Sulahn tranquil, and he had lied to his companions. His friends.

Now, he wept on the stone floor of the rotunda, and he did not hear Cole come in until the boy began to speak. "You're hurt."

"Not now, Cole."

Cole knelt beside Solas, the broad brim of his hat brushing Solas's pointed ear. "You called for help."

"No, I––" Solas shook his head. "Not really." Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he added, "I was just remembering something."

"You remembered what was, what will be, what hurts now, and always. I know. You can talk."

"Thank you, but . . ." Solas glanced at Sulahn, but she remained still on the sofa. He doubted she could even hear him. Sighing, he allowed himself to say, "It hurts, but I'll be okay."

Cole cocked his head. "No, you won't. You both die in the end."

"Well, what do you expect me to do?" he exploded. "Tell her?"

Cole seemed to relax. "Yes."

Solas opened his mouth to protest. Then closed it. Again, he looked to Sulahn. He knew now. The mistakes that led to that future. Much of what would happen. Perhaps even how to prevent it. And it was as simple as . . . "Tell her?"

Cole nodded. "Tell her everything. Don't lie to your heart. It always knows the truth."

 _Tell her_. The thought had come to him before, but he had never thought to act on it. How would she react? With resentment? Utter hatred? Would she leave him?

Maybe that would be for the best.

"Can you help her?" Solas asked softly.

Cole hesitated. "I'm scared to."

"Scared? Why?"

"She's . . . empty. Like a torch dripping with water. You might light it, but it will never be as bright. She's far. If she comes back, she'll be too close, every feeling like dipping her hand in flames."

"But you can do it, right?"

"Yes . . ."

"Then do it."

Again, Cole wavered.

"Please, Cole. Anything is better than this."

Cole stood and shuffled to Sulahn, every step too slow.

But he reached her. He placed his hand on her forehead, and he stood like that for a long, long time.


	27. Chapter 27

Cole hadn't been scared before. Not like this.

Except when he was in the cabinet. Hiding. Hiding from the hurt . . .

Cole shook his head. That was gone. He was here now. Not then.

Now, Sulahn was the one who needed help.

He had seen this before. Stillness, a prison inside, crushing in, in, in until there was nothing.

Nothing.

Cole shuddered.

He walked beneath boughs of white trees with leaves as black as the night sky. The trees lined a leaf-speckled pathway with elven arches glimmering white in pale sunlight in the distance.

Sulahn sat on a marble bench at the end, holding a black rose to her nose, eyes closed in comfort.

"Sulahn?" Cole sat beside her, hoping he wouldn't do anything wrong. She needed help. He needed to help. Solas needed help, and Sulahn.

She lifted pale eyes to him and smiled. " _Aneth ara_ , Cole."

He studied his hands, fiddling with his fingers. "Do you know what happened to you?"

She did not glance up from the rose but spoke calmly. "Of course. I was made tranquil. Now, I am far from myself."

Cole scrunched up his face. Here, he didn't feel her need for help. She felt . . . content. Cole could not suppress the shiver that raised his hackles.

"Dying took your feelings, and the demons took your spirit." Cole pressed a hand to his chest, feeling a surge of sympathy, mingled with fear.

Sulahn nodded as calmly as though she were discussing how she wanted her tea.

"Solas misses you. The real you."

She cocked her head. "Really? He's been lying. He wasn't lying about that, then?"

Cole's breath caught in his throat. How much did she know about Solas? He had to try to take her thoughts from that, to help her, and help Solas. "People need you."

"The Inquisition?" Her unfocused gaze fell on something in the distance. "It's quiet here. I like it."

Quiet, rushing, roaring, deafening, drowning. Mute. "It's loud back there, but people need someone to listen and make it quiet again."

Her brow wrinkled in thought. "Why? Why can't everyone come here to the quiet? Or let me listen?"

"But listening to nothing hurts. And you've hurt for a long time."

Sulahn studied the rose. "Long enough," she sighed. "Enough to be tired as soon as I wake up. Enough to think I hear a lie from everyone all the time. Enough to want to fall in battle . . . and not get up again."

Cole felt his heart stop for a moment. Broken glass, broken mirror, falling, falling, falling, skittering on the tiles, sliding, slipping, scattering.

But just because something's broken doesn't mean it's worthless.

Cole hugged Sulahn.


	28. Chapter 28

Weeks later, the Inquisition had to discuss the matter of who would be Inquisitor.

It didn't go well.

Hawke and Fenris had both long since left for Weisshaupt where they would inform the Wardens of what had happened at Adamant, as well as get some much-needed time away from the Inquisition.

Sulahn and Renan each took two groups out for adventuring. Renan took Vry, Sera, and Dorian for a rage-releasing trip to the Emerald Graves where they killed a dragon.

Sulahn took Solas. That was it.

Back at Skyhold, negotiations (or "arguments" as Cullen more aptly put it) continued over whether Sulahn or Renan should be Inquisitor.

In Crestwood, however, Sulahn and Solas rode upon the backs of harts, past spikes of red lyrium, past stone replicas of the wild steeds, beneath an archway of stone.

There, in the dark of a clearing, they dismounted.

Silence presided for a time, the wonder of the moon reflecting upon the pool and the rain-streaked leaves around them too strong for words to overpower.

And then, Sulahn spoke for one of the first few times in weeks.

"Now will you tell me why we came all the way out here?" She studied the statues of harts, and her pointed ears twitched at the snort of her live mount a fair distance behind her.

Solas too inspected the ancient carvings and paintings of their people, but she saw only his back as he watched ripples spread over the pool from the trickling waterfall.

He spoke over his shoulder. "I need to tell you something."

"Oh?"

Sighing, he turned, and to Sulahn's surprise, tears had gathered in his eyes. "When I told you I did not believe in the elven gods, I told you that they could have been real. Spirits, or people."

"Right," she answered uncertainly, stepping toward him.

"After Cole restored your mind, your soul, did you remember anything from before? Anything about how you became tranquil?"

Her brows furrowed in thought. "No. Should I?"

He clenched and unclenched his fists. "When we tried to reignite your memory, to show you how to open a rift, when I entered your dream, something happened. I believe it had something to do with what happened at Redcliffe when you saw the future. Perhaps that, in tandem with the Mark, allowed you to discern what would happen––"

"Solas."

He stopped.

"Cut the bullshit. What did you do?"

A tortured smirk broke upon his face. "It does not matter. That future will not come to pass. Not if you give me a chance."

She opened her mouth and closed it, prepared to strike at the news she almost certainly would not like.

" _Vhenan_ ," he croaked, a hundred thousand fears flitting across his face as he reached to touch hers, finally letting his hand fall to his side. "The elven gods . . . They are not as distant as you might think." He wavered, studying her eyes for some hint of what was going on in her mind. "One of them has been . . . quite close."

Again, he waited for a reaction, and again, none came. Not yet. With a glance at the moon and stars above as if for reassurance, he went on. "I am the one you call Fen'Harel. The Dread Wolf."

This time, his scrutiny rewarded him with a burst of laughter.

"That's good. I'll tell the Keeper that one. 'I'm the Dread Wolf.' Ha!" Sulahn patted his shoulder with one hand and pressed the other to her stomach as she bellowed out her mirth. "That is some good bullshit there! Fen'Harel. Love that!"

She slowed, seeing that he did not share in her humor. "You can't be . . . You can't be serious." Now it was her turn to study his eyes. "Fuck. You're not kidding, are you?"

"No, _vhenan_ ," he replied softly, his shame as great as her growing shock.

"But . . . that would mean you're thousands of years old. Immortal. And Fen'Harel knows Mythal. And Elgar'nan. And Ghilan'nain. And . . . shit. He knows all of them. He was there for Arlathan. For the fall. And . . . and then the Dales. The Exalted Marches. You were there," she turned wide eyes to him, eyes filled with red-laced sorrow, "and you did nothing."

She spun on her heel and began to pace, gesturing wildly with her hands. "You could have saved them. You could have stopped the fall, and Tevinter, and slavery, and the loss of . . . of _everything_!" She whipped around to face him. "And you lied! 'I saw it in the Fade.' Now that some _real bullshit_ right there!"

The next moment went by in silence as she considered the implications of this revelation. "Corypheus's orb. You said it was elven. Did you have anything to do with that?"

"It was mine," he managed to choke out.

She pressed a hand to her mouth and turned her back to him.

"It was mine" echoed, and echoed, and echoed. Only the steady trickling of the waterfall filled the silence. _He's the reason Corypheus might end the world. He's the reason the Divine is dead. That all those people at the Conclave are dead. Haven. Redcliffe's mages, that future. Celene's assassination. The Wardens' corruption_.

Her gaze fell to her left hand, the Mark that had once glowed within her palm now far, far away, belonging to her brother.

_All of this was Solas's fault. I defended him. I loved him._

_And I drank up every lie._

Screaming, she flung out a hand toward him, and with it an ice spell.

Solas, however, created a barrier, deflecting the spell so easily that she wondered if he had expected it.

He only returned her furious gaze with sorrow in those eyes. Those ancient eyes.

Suddenly, it all fell into place. Like the satisfying click of a keyhole when miraculously unlocked, she understood. His opinions of the Dalish. Of city elves. His strange accent. His build, his face, so unlike other elves. His knowledge of history, of Arlathan.

How could a man such as this love her? A man who had known infinite death, infinite loss, and infinite hatred of all those like her?

And how could she love him, the man who had lied to her, who had been responsible for countless deaths at Corypheus's hand, who was the one god her people had always warned her of?

_"Do not let the Dread Wolf catch your scent."_

She found herself chuckling, then laughing, then crying.

"Why would you tell me this?" she asked him, a part of her still unable to believe that the man she loved was Fen'Harel.

"Because I am tired of lying," he replied, moving forward just slightly. "Because I love you." Cautiously, he took her hands in his. "Because I want you to join me."

"In _what_?" she blurted, dizziness bringing her to clasp his hands until her joints creaked, partly for balance, partly out of anger.

"You want to bring the world back to what it was before, do you not?" The lilt in his voice strengthened, his excitement bleeding through. "That is what I wish. I will bring back Arlathan. I will bring back all that the elves were and make it better."

 _What is "better" ?_ she could have asked. How will you go about it? What must be destroyed to bring about this new world? Perhaps it all would have been better if she had managed to pose those questions, if she had been willing to deny a dream over the nightmare she lived in.

But the mightiest of the world are often the weakest of the heart. So Sulahn leaned her head against him, letting her weariness overcome him. Elven god or no, he had trusted her, and he proposed hope. Hope, in a world of desolation. Better to make the attempt to swim to driftwood than to let oneself drown in place.

She wept, tears soaking through his woolen shirt. A wolf in sheep's clothing indeed. She could not suppress the chuckle that bubbled up through her weeping.

Solas set his hand on his back with some uncertainty. "Then, you are not angry?"

"I'm fucking pissed, Solas. But you're all I have. Don't fuck me over again, though."

"Agreed, _vhenan_."

Sulahn realized his chest was quivering as well. Solas was crying.

One wept out of mingled betrayal and hope, the other of joy and shame.

But they wept with one another, and together, perhaps two broken souls could fix their shattered glass on the long journey ahead.


	29. Chapter 29

Though it was not one event that brought the advisors to choose a new Inquisitor, the actions of Sulahn after the unforeseen death of clan Lavellan brought the argument to a head.

The morning she received the information in the war room from Cullen, she simply disappeared.

Varric poked his head into the rotunda and asked Solas, "Hey, have you seen Sulahn yet today?"

Solas, who was already covered in paint from head to toe, shook his head. "I am afraid not."

"Hm." Varric stroked his chin and decided to ask Renan. Maybe they had that twin sense everyone always talked about.

It took him a while to find Renan, and when he did, he stopped, stunned.

Beneath the autumn boughs in the garden, Renan wept, great tears sending his back shaking. Dorian held Renan to his chest, his own face quivering with emotion. This early in the morning, no one else was in the garden. Shafts of light slanted through the red leaves, painting the scene as if in blood.

Varric blinked at Cole who stood near the doorway beside him, appearing out of nowhere. "What happened?"

"Strangers, seething, slaughtering. They wanted to be peace, but they became weapons. The last few fall beneath their sacred trees and become one with the earth." Cole bowed his head. "Hope became sorrow because they wouldn't listen."

"Kid, I'm sorry, but I can't understand when you talk like that."

Cole turned his morose eyes to Varric. "Clan Lavellan is gone."

For once, Varric wished Cole had not spoken so plainly.

Renan and Sulahn had just lost all their family, all they had ever known. Renan was here, but where was Sulahn? "Kid, where's the Inquisitor?"

Cole pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Adrift, drowning, sinking. Away. Far away. Then strong. Stronger. Overpowering. Renewed. How it hurts to feel again. Trying to escape from what's inside by moving from the place where it is kept. She's gone from here, moving to the first loss."

"So she left Skyhold? And she's going . . . where?"

"To her people."


	30. Chapter 30

" _Vhenan_."

"Solas."

Sulahn did not lift her eyes from the ash on which she knelt. Trees susurrated their lament above, letting only the slightest pinpricks of starlight through. "This is a dream, isn't it?"

He settled himself down beside her. "It is."

A moment passed by in silence. "How did I let this happen?"

"It is not your fault."

"Isn't it? I was the one who sent Cullen. I am the Inquisitor." She scoffed. "Probably not for much longer." Her face tightened. "How is Renan doing?"

"He wept this morning. Dorian was by his side the whole time."

"That's good. I'm glad he has someone there for him."

He studied her face. "I am here for you, too. I always will be." He reached to take her hand in his.

She pulled her hand away. "You must be happy," she hissed, eyes on the trees around them. "You hate the Dalish."

"No. I will never rejoice in another's suffering, no matter how different my views."

She relaxed. "Then . . . will you help me send them off?"

"Send them . . . Oh." He nodded, standing as she did. "I'm afraid I am unfamiliar with your clan's customs."

"Well, this is a dream, but I suppose it's the best I'll be able to do. Can you find me a cedar branch? And––and an oak staff?" She sniffed and rubbed at her nose.

"Yes, _vhenan_ ," he replied softly, and he conjured one of each in his hands. "What comes next?"

"We plant a tree . . . over . . . over each . . . Oh, _gods_ , why is this so hard?" She scrubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. Solas set a hand on her back, softly, ready to relinquish his touch if she pulled away.

"Loss comes and goes in waves," he murmured. "All we can do is step forward."

"I swear, if you give me another platitude, I will whack you with my staff." Both of them could not help but chuckle sullenly at that.

"So what happens now?"

"Now," she took a deep breath, "we sing."

Solas resisted the urge to ask her to please not sing, and he was soon glad he did so.

Sulahn's voice rang out, plaintive and loud across the land, echoing over the ashes of her people.

" _Hahren na melana sahlin_ ," she began. " _Emma ir abelas . . ._ "

If only she could understand Uthenera as it once was. Solas thought back to his own long sleep, to the many years he waited, the many years he lost. And the ones he loved lost in those years.

He thought of the once glorious towers of his people, now lost to the ravages of the wind, humanity's avarice, and his own folly, all buried beneath a patina of moss and misunderstanding.

He thought of Mythal, her murder, and his actions after. And suddenly, he understood Sulahn. She, too, had lost everything. What would she do now?

Sulahn ended with a long note and let it echo like the last words of her clan. Without another word, magic sprung from her fingers, and saplings burst forth from the ashes. The saplings stretched to the stars, pushing aside the nearby trees. Their bark groaned from the effort, and leaves whistled as they unfurled faster than any tree had ever seen in this forest.

At last, a stand of mighty oaks filled what had once been a clearing, shading the ashes below of what had once been clan Lavellan.

"I'll see you back at Skyhold," she told him when she took the cedar branch and the oak staff from his hands, laying them at the base of the largest tree. "Farewell, Keeper," she whispered. Her fingers lingered on the wood, perhaps unsure of whether or not she should adhere to tradition when she knew it to be fabrications.

Solas waited for a moment, thinking she might join him despite her words, but she remained kneeling before the oak, regret swimming in every thought.

"Rest, _vhenan_ ," he whispered. "The dead worry no more."

And with that, he left her dream and returned to Skyhold in the blink of an eye.


	31. Chapter 31

_Years Later_

And so Sulahn left the Inquisition to join Solas in his cause to tear down the Veil and bring the world of the ancient elves back to Thedas.

Renan became the Inquisitor, restoring order to Thedas with Dorian at his side. However, the Mark changed him. Where once had been innocence was now darkness, hardness against the light in the world. Through all of it, Dorian showed him goodness, and with his presence, Renan allowed himself to believe in hope once more.

Vry and Sera married one another and lived happily until the Qunari was captured in an attack by Solas's agents. It was some time before Sera and the Inquisition found her, and by then she had been blinded. However, Vry began to rely on her magic to see, and she was eventually able to fight with the Red Jennies once more.

Arya returned to Alistair for a time before leaving again in search for a cure to the Calling. It is said that she never stopped smiling once she left his side, and that her belly was swollen with child.

After the Inquisition found the Dread Wolf in a labyrinth of eluvians, the organization disbanded, but they never stopped searching for their trespasser and the woman at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And that's the last chapter! I'm been busy working on my original novels, so I'm sorry it took so long to put out the last few chapters. If you want more of this canon and its characters, please let me know, and I'll try to work on more stories!
> 
> If you want to support me as an author, please pick up my books on Amazon! My fantasy novels in the White Phoenix Saga are: EverFire, The Burning Arrows, and Blood of the Elders. My short story collection is A Bard's Tales: Venture Forth. My collection of poems is Artist's Whispers: Tomorrow's Dreams. All of them are under my pseudonym, Gloria Byrd! You can find more information about them on my profile page or follow me on Insta @writer.gloriabyrd. Thank you so much for reading, and I wish you luck in your fanfiction journeys and those beyond! :D


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